Like In A Mirror
by Gretchiro
Summary: What happens when two strangers appear into Noir's life, especially when their relationship is staggering? For those who have already read this, it is COMPLETELY renewed!Not yuri. Love yuri, but not when I share a relationship that is like Noir's.
1. The Question of Living

Author's Note: This story was the first I postd since I became a member. However, it has been completely RENEWED for those who have already read it, so start over again, and this time, it will be completed and hopefully enjoyable. I'm sorry, but it's not Yuri. I love Yuri, but not when I share a similar relationship like Noir's with a sister/best friend.

Chapter 1: The Question of Living

The death of Altena and Chloe brought the new practice of Le Grande Retour back with them. However, they were only participants of a bigger entity: the Soldats themselves. This was an entity that was nearly intangible: they were shadows that haunted Noir. No matter their attempts, Noir could not run away from their own shadows.

Despite of everything, since the fall of Le Grande Retour, the Soldats were damaged by the surprise Noir displayed in the final trials. They retreated into the shadows, probably running around frantically to revive their organization, and have left Noir alone.

But to save themselves, one of Noir had to wound herself.

She had to kill one more human being, and that human being was part of her: Chloe.

The one whom Kirika considered to be a lot like her, the one who had actually seemed to know the real Japanese girl behind that mask of death that concealed her from reality; the one who loved her. Remorse, loneliness, emptiness, and fright was heavy on Kirika. Though an assassin, she was still afraid of reality, even dreams. That familiar pain snaked its way back into her mind, her heart and soul. She tried letting go, ripping off that mask of emotionless pain, death, and fear. She wanted to be an entirely different person, not someone who had taken the lives of strangers, nor someone the life of someone she was close to.

She wanted to reveal a face that expressed how she felt, to the world, to its people . . .

And to Mireille.

_Mireille_.

Not only did she change from the death disguised as a girl, but so did her emotions and her weird feelings toward Mireille. Mireille Bouquet, hot-headed Corsican heiress: a fallen angel who harbored her own flaws, which were still angelic. Not the _other_ Noir. Her partner. Her friend. Her . . . love? No, something more like a sister. She felt a family in the blonde.

She wanted to say it, but like everyone else, she couldn't express herself no matter how much she tried. Though she was expressionless, she wasn't emotionless, right? Plus, she had never learned to love, never felt, never knew--never had she been loved. She almost loved Milosh, but . . .

Love was a stranger, a painter at the park, a woman with a gun, an old man with a kitten, a clueless girl . . . Love was another shadow hiding around every corner, waiting to strike like an assassin, but for some assassin like Kirika, she dodged that shadow's attacks easily. Though Kirika had never intended to dodge love in the first place, she just wished it could just stab her in the back of her head just like that.

--

She suddenly felt backwards through the door to Mireille's apartment as it opened. She collapsed to the ground clumsily, startled, but feeling rather stupid. But she remained still, lingering in her thoughts, clinging to the box hugged to her chest. Staring up at the ceiling, Kirika's nose noticed that fresh, soapy smell indicating her partner's recent shower.

"An assassin like you sucks at standing at doors quietly," invaded Mireille's voice.

Kirika tilted her head upward, seeing Mireille in her blue-white nightshirt that fell elegantly to her thighs. Her hand, in a rolled up sleeve, leaned against the door frame, with the other hand on her hip. Her azure, ocean-like eyes gazed down at Kirika like a restrained, fond smile.

Kirika remained staring up, feeling helpless and lost.

Mireille's eyes stretched a bit. "Hm?"

The Japanese rose to her feet and stood to face her Corsican friend. Looking at her gift hugged to her chest, Kirika slowly stared back at Mireille, who arched an eyebrow. After a quivering silence, Kirika thrust the gift into Mireille's arms. Mireille stared speechless at the gift.

"What for?" she murmured, her eyes flickering at the decoration of the box. She hummed thoughtfully, "Did I forget my own birthday--no. It's not Valentine's Day either, or . . ."

Kirika left silently, as if she was only the delivery girl. She sauntered past Mireille and soundlessly sat on their bed. As if she had been there the whole time, Noir stared out the window.

Mireille glanced at Kirika's way, wondering what Kirika always saw out there she found amusing.

"Kirika?" broke Mireille through the awkward silence, adding a stare back at the Japanese girl.

The Japanese always seemed to look like a curious hermit with legs crisscrossed. The still rust-colored abysses fixed on the reality out there, a face pasted by broken time . . .

"Then why'd you bother?"

Nothing.

Mireille took one quick shot of a glance at Kirika before returning her attention to the box. She gingerly took a hold of the red bow and pulled at it, untying the rest of its slim, flowing body. She snuck another glance at Kirika, feeling uneasy as she tried to figure out whether her gift was bad or good; Kirika's blank statement wouldn't tell her. Mireille dropped the lid off and held her breath, as she took out a wooden picture frame.

As if she could feel Mireille's shock and emotions, Kirika said rather with emotion, "Shoot me, Mireille."

_"Shoot me, Mireille! Mireille!"_

She remembered the graveyard.

Mireille dropped the shredded box, but held onto two things: a shotgun and a photograph of her Corsican family. Silence gasped, until Mireille sliced it with one phrase, "So that's what you were doing in Corsica . . ."

From behind, Kirika's innocent form shuddered in shame and pang.

"Use it to take my life and to shatter what's left of the memory of your family . . ." The trembling words tumbled into sobs.

The sound of the one crying--whom she knew she was to hate, but learned to love and give a second chance--tore Mireille's heart. However, she didn't know what to do. She hugged the poor girl once after Chloe's death. She cried for Kirika to live on. She almost cried when she struggled to shoot the girl who begged for the end of her life. She . . . couldn't go through the same situation again . . . here . . . now . . . and when Kirika's cries begged for nothing but love and forgiveness.

Before Mireille could speak, Kirika's words stumbled through gasps, "Make it stop, Mireille. _Noir_. Make it stop . . ."

Without helping it, the heiress' memory harped the tickling melodie. Its branches spread violently, poisoning her heart with grievous memories. Mireille eyes seemed to shudder as they closed. She nearly gasped.

"You knew I was there against the door the whole time . . ." interrupted Kirika's voice, still gasping through sobs. "It's scary to know someone's behind a door, to sense my presence, but mistakening me as an enemy--I just wish it wasn't like that. Noir--I don't want to hear it anymore. Stop the melody, Mireille--!"

Mireille whipped around to confront Kirika. But she saw the raised dagger. The French lurched forward in a simple, glide-like jump and pounced on Kirika. From there, she struggled with effort and determination to preclude the suicide. Kirika tried wriggling her dagger from Mireille's reach, but Mireille managed to grapple the wrist that held the dagger and restrained it from motion. Next, she reluctantly knocked them both off their bed and pinned Kirika heavily against the floor. Kirika, for a moment, seemed possessed as if the demon who controlled her actions was now attempting to end her life. Mireille cushioned the weight of her groin against Kirika's stomach, her legs crushing Kirika's petite legs, her hands reaching for Kirika's dagger. As she took that as an advantage, Mireille used a free hand to snatch the blade.

Kirika bucked her off with her legs, then pounced on Mireille with the dagger lifted.

"KIRIKA!" bellowed Mireille with a shaken emotion.

The washing instincts to kill left Kirika.

She dropped the dagger.

She stared into Mireille's eyes, which swelled with tears.

Kirika stumbled off, whimpering in panic. She stared at Mireille, eyes wavering as if begging for mercy. Her friend sat up calmly, staring with a fallen face of sympathy at Kirika. Mireille's eyes gave the sign as she choked the words, "Don't leave me. Just don't."

--

A nearby neighbor had heard the screaming fray. After asking if everything was okay, Mireille fibbed her answer, "She was having a nightmare in her nap, that's all." When the neighbor left, Mireille dragged Kirika back onto their bed as if Kirika had been wounded. Kirika immediately spied the dagger cut on Mireille's palm from their struggle on the floor.

"Mireille . . . I hurt you." Kirika's face quickly turned into a tear-stained mask. "I never meant to plan this . . ."

_"Planned?"_ asked Mireille, almost smiling, but frowned as she covered her palm. But Kirika hated that.

She grabbed Mireille's wrist, too concerned. "Don't change the subject. I just hurt you. I'm . . . so sorry . . ."

Mireille smiled fondly and sighed at the simple touch of Kirika's. Her eyes whispered with a hidden affection. "With you here, you healed me from the darkness. For that, I am grateful, Kirika."

Hearing that simple phrase drowned Kirika into another series of tears; she whimpered Mireile's name repetively as she broke down crying. Excusing herself and her tears, Kirika rushed to get bandages from the closet and wrapped Mirielle's hand up. Her hand looked like a glove made of bandages.

". . . You're always forgiven," murmured Mireille with a weak but genuine smile.

Kirika thought over what Mireille just said. She said firmly, though weeping, "But you are in pain, Mireille. I murdered your family . . . because of me, your uncle died, because of me, your memories . . ."

"Stop it," demanded Mireille, almost strictly. "You're not a murderer. You're human. Kirika Yumura."

"Am I . . . really your friend?" Kirika murmured.

Mireille answered with a smile, eyes glistening with the truth inside.

On their bed, Kirika turned her head until it stared over the wall that blocked her view of the window. She stared, as if blankly wounded. Mireille was upset that she dampened the mood after the silence stood between them. Her face clouded with damp emotion. As she studied the back of Kirika, she wondered whether Kirika either stared at the reflection that watched her or actually out the window, watching the world go by.

Despite their dim morning, their worlds of darkness, silence, and death were finally illuminated.

Mireille frowned as she spoke finally: "You know, there's more to life than looking out a window at it."

The still girl didn't reply until a few seconds later. "To look. To observe. That's what I do: wonder."

"It's a humane thing to do: to wonder."

"Hm . . ."

"If you need to talk . . . just say it. And that's not an order."

"You've never ordered me around."

"Huh, well, I guess that's good." Mireille sort of chuckled to herself, looking back into the past at the way she treated her friend, as if she didn't care. "In the past, I've realized how careless I've been to you. But, just to let you know, I . . . did care."

"At first, I didn't realize it, but I now do."

Mireille's heart fluttered at that compliment. Perhaps, while the mood was perfectly at put, perhaps she could tell Kirika how much she cared.

"If it makes you feel any better, we could go shopping," blurted Mireille.

_What the hell? _she screamed mentally. _Shopping? Be more mature than that. You call yourself an adult._

Kirika turned around, a small hint of a smile stretching. The way she did that, reminded Mireille horribly of Chloe's movements and expressions. Mireille shook her mind off that assassin. She listened to Kirika:

"Whatever you see fit."

She even sounded like Chloe. Mireille considered of the friendly relationship between Chloe and Kirika, remembering their similar movements, voices, thoughts--just like the True Noir. Mireille shuddered, but not wanting to alert Kirika with her own fears and concerns, she rubbed her arms to pretend she was cold.

"Chloe?" asked Kirika.

"Heh." Mireille paused to slide into an eye contact with Kirika. "You knew?"

"Your eyes."

"We really are the True Noir--"

"No." Kirika had said that with full force of half anger and sadness.

"I'm sorry. For a moment, I knew what it felt to be like Chloe. The jealousy when I saw you two fight together. The yearning to feel that power and unison . . ."

"And I begged for you to stop staring at me that way. I had begged you not to think about her anymore."

Mireille's reply was another stare of silence at Kirika. A warm, gentle stare of observation and penetration into the latter's soulful eyes.

Without hesitating, she proposed, "Let's go shopping before it gets dark. To get your mind off it. And mine for the sake of it." Mireille held out her injured hand to Kirika, smiling. Kirika seemed to hesitate, seemed to struggle to take the hand, the hand she injured. Mireille reminded her softly, "Kirika . . ."

"I don't want to hurt you again--" began Kirika with fear.

"You won't. I promise--"

"Don't pledge another promise."

"Right. How about you promise me something? Promise me to be happy while we're out, okay?"

"Promise."

"Good."

Kirika smiled tenderly: "Thank you, Mireille."

Mireille joked, "I knew shopping would work."

Kirika almost laughed, her heart blushing with a fluttering affection. "No. For . . . letting me stay. For being there."

The blossomed feeling of admitted love began to make Mireille awkward. In fact, she felt her mind was toying with her emotions, as if it couldn't decide whether to be all open or reserved. However, the hardcore Mireille attempted to slap on a slight smile before looking away.

Sighing, she finished, "Let's go."

She pulled Kirika with her as she got her purse; they slipped their shoes on, took the keys, trotted down the stairs, checked their mail, and exit the apartment building.

--

After shopping and stopping by the grocery store, the friends headed back for Mireille's apartment--their apartment. Their home. The thing that bound them together.

In spite the heavy load Mireille had insisted to carry--all the grocery bags and bags full of new high heels, shirts, makeup for herself, and sweaters, pants, skirts and every teenage girl's stuff for Kirika--Mireille was humming happily to herself as they strolled toward home. Behind her, Kirika thought they should have driven Mireille's Moped. She fought with Mireille over the unfair load the Corsican insisted carrying.

Through pushed through the throngs of people. Kirika insisted again to carry at least half of the load before Mireille crashed into a wall.

Then, food and stuff rolled out of their bags as Mirielle tumbled backwards into Kirika. She practically weighed a load on the poor girl. This startled nearby customers at an outside cafe.

Mireille got to her knees, and rubbed her shoulder. There were murmurs rising from their little audience. Feeling rather stupid and annoyed, she considered wishing she had taken Kirika's offer.

"Embarrassing . . ." she muttered to herself.

She swore under her breath, after seeing an burn-like cut on Kirika's arm from the fall. Standing to her feet, ignoring the groceries and accessories, she clenched her teeth and growled to whom they collided with, "Who the--?"

She stared into the same innocent, yet deadly, interesting, mysterious, and wonderfully cute eyes--but they were darker brown, darker than Kirika's: a forgotten, twinkling blackness. For a moment, she thought she had been reprimanding Kirika, stunned and confused.

She had mistakened an Asian girl for being her own friend, who was about the same height, with the same eyes, facial expressions, almost statue-like face, and nearly the cute mannerisms.

"WATCH WHERE _YOU'RE_ GOING!" barked a dirty-blonde girl, who knelt beside the Asian. She helped her up.

_Ugh. Asian and American. I'm gonna have to talk two languages here . . ._ thought Mireille furiously, considering she was French. Now she had to figure out if the Asian was Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Filipino, Thai, Vietnamese, or whatever else there was.

"Excuse us," prompted the Asian girl with a tip of her head.

_Good, she can speak French,_ thought Mireille, surprised.

The Asian didn't seem to mind at all. She just smiled friendly as she locked eyes with Noir. Mireille couldn't help but stare: it was like a clone Kirika with hair in a long, twisted braid swaying behind her like a sweeping broom. At first she assumed the Asian wasn't Chinese because of the natural tan skin and sharp cheekbones, though the nose was the Asian type--but the traditional sleeveless, collared Chinese shirt the color of hot crimson claimed her so. Black, velvet pants bounced flambouyantly on her defined legs.

Her American friend joined her in their weird staring contest, ending Mireille's rude observations. The Kirika clone added, "I'm sorry, I'm Tsuki, and this is Rhain."

"They don't need to know that," muttered Rhain icily. She glowered with questions at Tsuki.

"_Tsuki_ . . .? Japanese . . . I think," mumbled Mireille, or at least she tried. Her words were audible and the two strangers reacted.

"You speak Japanese!?" they squealed with delight, but not as loud.

_Maybe they're not as mature as I thought they would be,_ thought Mireille hopelessly. _Silly me, I was beginning to think I was seeing reflections of myself and Kirika. Seeing them together, now I'm getting they're probably American citizens._

Mireille couldn't help but stare, figuring out that Tsuki was a Chinese girl with a Japanese name. Maybe she was a combination of both . . .?

She was startled to see Kirika going along with this nonsense, but Mireille couldn't blame her friend. After all, Kirika was Japanese. Maybe this Asian girl was too. But what was with the American girl, Rhain? "Rhain "didn't sound so American.

_". . . Moon . . ."_ whispered Kirika breathlessly at a familiar Japanese word. Kirika bowed a traditional Japanese bow. Tsuki returned it with pleasure over this this strange, but amusing encounter. Rhain played along much to her own dislike in correspondence to her bored expression.

Kirika smiled slightly. _"Watashi no name wa Yumura Kirika."_ ("I am Kirika Yumura").

Regardless of common courtesy and proper etiquette, Mireille was quite irritated that they were suddenly finding themselves in a conversation with people they just bumped into. They were friendly and politely apologetic, but she wasn't in the mood to sit and have tea. But by the looks of it, Kirika seemed happy to be in a conversation with someone she could relate to in terms of ethnicity and shared cultures. She actually was having a chance to speak with people she didn't have to assassinate. She was free. And Mireille was happy that she was. Of course Mireille could understand that feeling‚ of freedom.

The anamolous girls they just met were slightly irking. One moment they seemed so mature that it surprised you elegantly, the next, they were naive, jumping, hyper teenagers you wish had been taught better than that. Their words were bitterly annoying--actually, Rhain's words were.

"Kirika," interrupted Mireille rather harshly as she cleared her throat loud for Kirika to hear, "let's get our groceries."

"It was our fault," insisted Tsuki. Rhain, at first, stood there, badgered, but joined her friend reluctantly.

Kirika and Mireille froze as the two gathered their belongings. It had occurred to them that their guns were inside the purse Mireille dropped when she bumped into Tsuki and Rhain. They feared they'd be found out, because the purse had zipped open--how, that was unknown, but it didn't matter. The assassins didn't want the girls to find the guns inside.

It struck Mireille: why did they even have their guns with them? Their assassinating days were over. No Chloe, no Altena . . . but the Soldats . . . that was left unsure. Surely, she knew the world they were in were full of clones of Soldats. No, the _world_ was the Soldats . . .

Kirika and Mireille let go of their breath, for what seemed like a minute when they watched Tsuki and Rhain get to Mireille's purse. They zipped it after just stuffing Mireille's wallet, pens, sticky pads, and other pieces of paper crap back inside. Finally, the girls handed over the assassins' belongings.

"Thank you," said Kirika, dipping her head slightly.

"YEAHH!" answered Rhain, giving a smile and thumbs-up.

Mireille gave her a cocked eye-brow, impatient, but with . . . interest, as Tsuki turned her head to face Rhain. Tsuki knelt down, and seemed to be scanning Rhain's lower limbs. "You're bleeding, Rhain."

Rhain glanced down. She shook her head and waved the statement away as if it was all trash. "Nah."

"Rhain . . ."

"No. Forget it."

"Rhain, it's getting on your boots--"

"GET IT OFF!" interrupted the American, frantically and ridiculously swatting at the leak dribbling down her bare legs to her shins ("Hold _still_, first!" retorted Tsuki, trying to avoid Rhain's swatting).

Ignoring them, Mireille turned around, remembering Kirika's scratch. "You're bleeding, Kirika."

"Your sister can use this."

Mireille turned around, Tsuki's hand reached out to her with her own small roll of bandages. Mireille found herself staring, whether because of the bandages that came out of nowhere, or Tsuki's eyes. Musing over those eyes, the French took the roll and strapped a long layer to Kirika's arm. Kirika didn't seem to notice the burning gash that was severely tightening in her cut flesh. She was focusing on Rhain.

Mireille handed the roll of bandages back, already seeing Rhain wrapped up around the ankle like a fat bracelet. "Whatever happened to band-Aids?"asked Rhain as Tsuki stacked away the roll of bandages away into her black pockets.

Again, Mireille examined the buckled, clattering knee-high boots that met Tsuki's knee-lengthed pants. She noticed Rhain wore the same buckled boots. Her shirt was a decently sleeveless black shirt with a purposely gaping hole near the collarbone. Her hair was about the same length as Mireille's with a full crown of bangs. Like Mireille, a flat, breezy, skimpy black skirt rippled in the slight current around Rhain's thighs.

The Corsican's stare hardened into the most intense hazel eyes she'd ever seen.

"You're not so pretty yourself," said Rhain.

"Mireille, don't be rude," cut in Kirika.

Mireille blinked and stared ahead. They were still there, only they were staring back at her with nervous, tentative eyes.

"She's creepy. Let's go." Rhain pulled Tsuki's arm and they turned around, back the way they came. Into the jostling crowd, they just simply vanished, blending in with the ordinary people--something Kirika and Mireille could not do.

Mireille made a short noise with a false, playful smile. Kirika only stared at her, eyes searching for something within those sapphire orbs.

"Why were you staring?" queried Kirika flatly.

"You calling me creepy, too?" challenged Mireille in an authoraive, demanding tone. However, she paused and pondered. Something felt weird.

"Scary, isn't it?" retorted Kirika nonchalantly.

Mireille smiled, closing her eyes and sighing. "You read my mind, Kirika."

"So I did?" Kirika's eyes seem to sparkle the way a grin would. "We're not Noir. We just know each other so well."

"Hm." Mireille gave a short laugh, gave Kirika's hand a quick squeeze, then let go. "Let's go home."

"Home," reiterated the Japanese, "A place of family."

Mireille smiled as she pushed Kirika along. No more darkness. No more killing. No more Soldats--at least for now. Hopefully, forever. But no more pain.

"I'm not as creepy as you when we first met," stated Mireille, marveling. "I'm not creepy, right?"

Kirika smiled with a hint of a giggle. "No . . ."

"Were you _hesitating_?" accused Mireille half-jokingly, half curious.

"Mireille, let's just go home."


	2. A Brake

Chapter 2: A Brake

Rhain and Tsuki continued to walk down the busy Paris street. "Well, that went . . . interestingly," murmured Tsuki, turning her gaze to Rhain, who was staring at the street, seeming to be in irritated focus.

"You worry too much about our entrances and departures . . ." said Rhain, whipping her blonde bangs away. Then she staggered: "Gyahh! Damn ankle, I'm gonna burn you if you don't--"

"Your ankle's already burned, Rhain," quipped Tsuki. She exhaled with disappointment. "It would have went smoother if our exit would have been a little better!"

"TSUKI, she was staring at us like we had two heads!"

"You would have been weird out too if you just met your-near twin!"

"I was weirded out."

"You were _expecting_ it, she wasn't," proclaimed Tsuki, confirming they'd end the small argument. She crossed her arms and huffed at her dark bangs out out of her hooded eyes.

At home, they stared out over the bleeding horizon, as if yearning something to approach from it. Rhain stirred her straw around in her orange juice, seeming to be blank and lost in her thoughts. She closed her eyes and outhaled. "When do you plan for the next encounter? Where and how?"

Tsuki smiled, placing her drink on a mini-table beside her. She crossed her arms behind her head thoughtfully. "Well, what attracts two killers?"

"_Artistic_ killers, for your correction," emphasized Rhain with pride and obviousness. She exclaimed, "One is artistic in killing and painting, the other is artistic in . . . scratch that, Mireille's a dweeb."

"'Dweeb'?" repeated Tsuki with a questioning stare.

"Yup, Mireille sucks pink socks."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, it just rhymed."

"That didn't rhym."

Tsuki couldn't help but laugh at her sister's random comments flaring out on Mireille's hot-tempered reputation. She always admired the American's weird diction.

"In any case, we have several options," continued Tsuki. She took a sip of her orange to stop her chuckling. "Kirika has a fondness of cute, simple things like cats and art."

"And Dweeb loves shopping, makeup, and boys," jested Rhain in her own lost world of grins and evil thoughts.

"Rhain, she has a name, and she is not obsessed with men."

"Right. Dweeb."

"At least do better than 'Dweeb'."

"I shall call her Dweeb, and she shall be my Dweeb."

"Rhain."

"Tsuki."

"RHAIN."

"And your name is Tsuki--!"

"Be serious!" Rhain stopped, trying to turn serious, while Tsuki recommended: "We need something that attracts both. Something they can do together, something they can relate to. Um, what combines art and shopping?"

"Nothing."

"Gahhh! Hey, wait, a fair!"

"YEAH!"

"No, _you're_ not going. We're going to attract them to a fair! Get things going," stated Tsuki in triumphant.

Rhain gave a look. "What would that do?"

"More than you think."

"OK . . . when do we get started?"

"Tomorrow. We want to get this quick and done with."

"Fine," said Rhain. "We will . . . let's put in a CD and listen to music. I'm exhausted. We should bring this with us. Then, we'll be done."

Music wove its tones and instrumental voices through the air, cradling the emotions between the sisters as they simply city-gazed in a fading, baking smile.

--

Chin propped onto the palm of her hand, Mireille watched Kirika exhaustingly from her table. Her partner leaned against the window sill. Now that Mireille thought about it, there wasn't much to get Kirika smiling. As she could recall, Mireille only remembered things like painting, cats, and ice-cream cones lighting Kirika's face.

The clock was ticking almost ominously as silence buzzed ravenously to the point that it frustrated Mireille. She looked around hoping to entertain herself, especially for Kirika's sake.

"There's not much to make you smile," sighed Mireille. Kirika looked over her shoulders at the blonde questioningly. Mireille only looked away shortly after their eye contact, thinking furiously.

"I'm sorry. I'm boring you, after all you've done for me," apologized Kirika, almost like a worried child.

Mireille gave a bit of a smilie. "No, no . . . I'm just trying to figure out a way to get you to smile more so that it becomes second nature. You're not your every-day teenager, I'll tell you that . . ."

Kirika was struck by those abnormal remarks. "I know. I hate that. To not be able to blend in . . ."

"Kirika," began Mireille. She sighed. "Emotions are good to reserve, but you've got to learn to conserve them for moments when you should use them. Laugh when something's funny, smile when you're happy. Cry when you're sad. Yell when you're angry. You're more mature than an adult can ever hope for out of any human being. It's good that you're full of clashing emotions . . . but control them. Use them . . ."

Mireille got up from the pool table and walked up next to Kirika, standing still, staring at Kirika. Then she moved her eyes to outside the window, seeing if she could see what the assassin could, seeing if there was _anything_ to see. Her eyes wandered every corner of what was in her sight: cars, people, trees, buildings, bikes . . .

A thought shot through her head like a bullet. Mireille's eyes lit up at a cheery thought and turned to face Kirika, who still seemed to be like a mindless zombie standing.

Mireille asked, "Hey, have you ever biked?"

Kirika turned, staring.

"Well, shall we try it, then?"

The Japanese's eyes seemed to beam with amusment over the thought. Meanwhile, Mireille glanced down, watching two friends riding their bikes side by side, laughing and ranting. Next, she stretched a wide smile at Kirika: "Well then, let's go."

Kirika blurted, "Mireille . . .? First those girls, now this."

Mireille frowned. She folded her arms across her chest. "There's nothing I can pull off. This is difficult for me, Kirika, so do please help me. Sometimes, I just wish a contract appeared so we could actually do something together that's second nature. But, there's a new me standing beside you, caring about your feelings.

"Now." Mireille smiled. "Shall we?"

Out of a cardboard box that held her childhood possessions in Uncle Claude's mansion, Mireille took out a helmet that miraculously fit Kirika's head. Then, she went to the back of their apartment, bringing back a red bike. She steered it over to Kirika, who awaited at the front of the building. Kirika stared at it as if it would bite. Mireille fixed a hot stare at Kirika.

"Try it," she urged, handing Kirika bike gloves. "And be safe while you're at it."

"That's something I can't do." Somewhere in that tone of Kirika's, Mireille thought she heard a jest. It was unusual; Kirika wasn't the joking type, nor the emotional type . . . nor was she good at not getting hurt.

Mireille balanced the bike as she waited for Kirika to mount it. Kirika gripped the steering handles and sat, while one leg stood at ground. Mireille let go. She folded her arms and stepped back, saying, "I want to see how you do. Memories can't be lost forever, I've finally learned."

Kirika sat there on the bike for several seconds, which annoyed Mireille, in the observant way.

Mireille finally spoke: "You don't remember. You can't, can you?"

"I wish, but I can't." Kirika's words sounded like they were pleading for help to freshen her memory. Mireille heeded such words and smiled friendly.

She took hold of the wheels and told Kirika to put her feet to the pedals. Next, Mireille commanded Kirika to start spinning, pressing against the weight of the pedals, and she warned Kirika that she would let go, making sure Kirika was still pedaling with a good amount of speed. Kirika rode away just like that.

Mireille's heart fluttered with excitement. _God, I feel like a mother or something,_ she joked to herself. Then, she called after Kirika, "Now, use the handles to steer left or right . . . and watch where you're going."

Kirika did as she was told.

Excited, Mireille beckoned, "Come towards me . . . just keep pedaling."

Kirika turned a sharp turn and pedaled towards Mireille . . . a bit too fast. Kirika looked like she was going to run her down flat.

"BRAKE-—!" Mireille forgot to mention the brakes. How ignorantly stupid of her. She jumped aside. Kirika rode past her. Sitting up with concern, Mireille watched in silent horror: Kirika somersaulted mid-air after her bike just crashed into a nearby bench that happened to be behind Mireille.

She scrambled to her feet and hastened toward Kirika's laying form across the bed of grass. Dropping to her knees, she shook Kirika's shoulder: "KIRIKA?"

Kirika's helmet remained perfectly on. Her eyes winced open painfully. At first, she gradually sat up, flinching in aching pain. Just as Mireille grew concerned that she'd gone amnesia again, Kirika released a soft smile.

"You're okay," murmured Mireille after realization.

"That was fun," murmured Kirika, smiling gingerly, stealing the image of a death angel, yet a peaceful and loving one too. "Again."

Mireille's eyes displayed a stunned glow. "Crash into a bench again? No."

She shifted to get up, standing up and dusting off her rear as well as her knees. Kirika looked up at after her, where they exchanged timid smiles.

Both Noir's hearts pounced with relieved joy as they walked inside together, not being able to control their smiles. When they entered, Mireille checked the mail since she'd seen the mailman recently. As Kirika stood behind Mireille, the blonde opened her mail.

"We have mail," announced Mireille casually, yet lightly since she was in a sudden good mood.

Her eyes scaled over the sender's address. There was no sender's address, but it was addressed to "Mireille Bouquet and Yumura Kirika" in neat, slanted cursive.

Mireille didn't bother staring back over her shoulders at Kirika. "It's a contract from the Soldats."


	3. One Day

Chapter 3: One Day

"There's our target," murmured Mireille, sighing irritation, glancing over her magazine. Their sights met a middle-aged man with sandy-brown, greased air and faded side-burns. He wore a gentleman's formal bayish suit.

Tipping her sun glasses down, Mireille took a closer peek. "Huh, not my type nor age. From what I've been able to find through research, 'Grey' Varrichione is a corperate scumbag, namely goes by the simple alias, 'V'. It's a simple job really: he's here on business and he's staying in a hotel only a block from here. V has the whole floor to himself so you can bet there will be some guards with him."

Mireille's eyes turned on to Kirika, who was watching "V", but with a carefree touch. "Apart from a few underskilled bodyguards this job is going to be fairly routine . . . are you even listening?"

Kirika looked up toward Mireille tentatively. She had an apologetic look in her eyes, but never showed it on her face. "Yes . . . it's just that . . . I thought we gave up being who we were. The news, the street gossips, it's hard to listen to because of our doings: 'Lawyer dead. Family mourns'. I can't stand those, especially when I know it was . . ."

Even Mireille felt the same way as Kirika. So the darkness still wouldn't give them up. "It has to be done. He had it coming anyway. Almost all humanity has it coming . . . even you and I. Our sins are especially accountable. If we don't kill him, someone else will--you and I are running out of job opportunities, and so far, this still has been our best choice and best way of making our living."

"Our black daily bread . . ." murmured Kirika, secretly distraught.

". . . He isn't as deserving of fate as most of our clients, but he still has it coming. Sometimes, for your sake, I wouldn't read too much into their pasts. It'll save you the remorse." Mireille offered a weak smile but she knew the girl now felt guilty for what she did and their job and guilt weren't a good mix. "Well, on the brighter side, at least we get some excitement. Paris is not really exhilarating. So, why don't we go get some ice cream or something, anything to take your mind off this. I really don't like to see you upset, although, occasionally it's hard to tell if you are or not."

Kirika just stared on, watching V as he slowly began to disappear into a crowd. Mireille was alarmed at this: "Don't give us away. We probably aren't the only ones watching someone."

Kirika didn't seem to care. She murmured, "No more . . ."

Mireille didn't want to say this, but this was a moral of life. "Killing . . . is part of our nature. In fact, it was the first thing we learned. And it became useful and saved us. Everything has its limits."

Mireille's eyes slowly descended upon the sight of Kirika's palm in her lap. Kirika wasn't looking, but Mireille had that flutter feeling inside her once more. It wanted, it urged her to do it. But it couldn't come. Then, her hand shook as she reached out and gently held Kirika's hand. The Japanese stared down at Mireille's hands, feeling something resting on her own palm. When Mireille removed her hand, Kirika found a twenty-dollar French bill. Before there were questions asked, Mireille quickly tucked the magazine into her pocket, stood up, and flicked her hair off her shoulders.

She didn't look over her shoulder, but it was definite that she was speaking to her partner. "The contract will expire in three days. Since we've agreed, we might as well get a strategy started within those three days. But, before we push ourselves too far, let's relax. And for you, get yourself an ice cream or something, and meet me back here around noon."

"And you?"

"I got matters to settle with." Mireille tucked her hands into her pockets and sauntered away.

Kirika stared at the twenty-dollar bill. She closed her fingers around it, holding it firmly. Then, she walked away, taking one quick shot over her shoulders at Mireille. Then she turned toward an ice-cream stand.

Mireille turned around at the sight of Kirika walking away.

--

As Kirika sat down, licking and nibbling away on her ice-cream cone, she saw a black flicker. She paused and stared sideways, seeing a night-colored street cat sniffing a nearby trash can. She watched with admiration as the cat lept onto the lid of the trash can and peeked its head into the lid. Its tail flicked around as usual; bright lemon eyes burning with curiousity and concentration on whatver was inside the can. Without warning, the trash can sort of tipped off balance at the heavy movement of the cat's weight. The little black furball lost balance and stupidly landed in-side the trash can. Inside, the trash can rattled, and shook with the cat's stupid struggling inside. Kirika stared around to see if anybody had noticed; she took her ice-cream with her as she hurried to the trash and immediately pried the entire lid off. She stared down as the cat stared back up frantically, mewing in a tone that made Kirika's heart mourn; as if she could hear every inch of grief and sadness from all over the world.

She reached down and scooped the feline up. It clung to her arm with its claws--which sort of hurt--and she lifted her arm out. Then she placed the lid back on and made a more comfty cradle of her arms for the creature, as though it was her favorite stuff animal. It struggled to break free, until it took a glance at what remained of the ice-cream cone. Kirika gave a slight smile as she leaned the cone closer for the cat to lick at. Before she knew it, the cat had devoured that bulb of mixed flavors. The cone remained. Kirika stroke its back, smiling fondly, as its ears twitched at her exploring strokes and it uneasily tried prying free. Gradually, it relaxed, but observed Kirika, adding its own pleased purs as Kirika continued stroking. Not helping herself, she began to walk away with it, placing the ice-cream cone on the cat's head until it later shook the cone off.

Kirika returned to the same bench where they first saw V. Mireille was there, waiting impatiently and with concern as it always went. Arms folded and face tensed with frustration, she had her foot tapping the ground constantly. But when Kirika approached, her expression gradually faded, yet kept a tinge of impatience there. She sighed and turned to Kirika. When Mireille saw the cat, she couldn't restrain a look of dismay at the sight of Kirika with a stray.

Despite the cuteness, Mireille refused to let another stray cat distract Kirika. Besides, it made Kirika stink as well. Mireille ignored the stench as she begged, "TELL me that you're not really thinking . . ."

Kirika knew this would come up. Mireille's dislike for stray things coming with them disappointed her. Mireille said, "It's wild, it has germs, and it smells. So do you." That last part was supposed to be a jest, but Kirika didn't seem to recognize such a tone.

In fact, Kirika looked at the ground, frowning. "I . . . am a beast. It's in my nature, marked on me at birth."

Mireille recognized the hidden meaning and was already disturbed by it, mainly because Kirika was referring to herself as a beast rather than a human being. "Kirika--"

The Japanese slowly lowered the cat to the ground. Whispering, she stated, "A stray cat always has a family--or once did. I wish I could help them all--I wish, they could find a place . . ."

Mireille finally understood why Kirika had interest in cats: _She's a stray cat; alone, lost, clueless, helpless, afraid . . . The connection is intangibly deep, yet I can't seem to grasp an understanding of Kirika's feelings . . ._

"Mireille?" summoned Kirika.

Mireille was brought out from her thoughts. "Sorry."

"Hm?"

"For both being lost in my thoughts and for calling you a beast indirectly, even if it was unintentional. But, Kirika, cats, they're different. You are not. You're like me. But . . . enough. Let's go."

"Go where? There's nothing to do, besides killing."

"I'm sorry, who told you life was nothing but killing? If it was just killing, life wouldn't be life, now would it?"

Astonished by those englightening words, Kirika stared at Mireille. An awkward silence followed.

The cat added to the silence as it stared at Kirika with a begging look. Then, it padded away, forgetting her, probing for more food. Kirika stared after it longingly and with loss, while Mireille stood there helplessly. She'd known cats were part of Kirika, but the symbolic existences they gave Kirika had to leave, because they were infecting the Japanese with discouraging thoughts.

"What now?" Kirika asked.

"We pay for a boat ride, down the river."

"What for?"

Traditionally, those kind of boat roads were for romantic situations, but this was merely casual and celebrating their first days free from the darkness leeched to them since birth.

"The earth is too much. I want to be out on the water, because it reminds me of the sky; like a reflection. Like in a mirror." Mireille breathed in fresh air, fiddling with a string of blonde hair, binding it around her finger like a choking snake.

"Then what?"

"Well, first, get that cat off your mind. You are not a cat. Let's get going to the river . Come on you." Kirika followed Mireille's request and they both set off toward where a man with his boat was.

Mireille paid. Next, the man pushed the oar against the shore and they were off, gliding along the settled water. Deranged pockets of colorful reflections bobbed along their boat. Mirelle and Kirika sat next to each other, while the French watched to see if Kirika would ever do anything besides staring at her reflection. Before long, Kirika finally noticed.

She turned to face Mireille: "Hm?"

Mireille didn't expect this. She turned away. "You don't do anything. Even on a relaxed ride like this. I'm sure you've never done this French style before."

"The cat . . ."

Mireille sighed, but indicated she was listening.

"I want to see it again."

"There are lots of them everywhere. Paris is a big place."

"I know."

"Hm . . ."

Kirika didn't reply. Mireille respected that same silence. For the rest of their time on the gondala, all that was heard was the bustling honks of Paris, the silent gurgling of the snaking water; the man's oar colliding with the water and his whispering grunts of efforts; the ripping breaths of wind gnawing in their hair, defining their layers underneath the baking heat.

"Mireille."

"Hm?" Mireille had her chin resting on her knuckles again, and opened her eyes to eye Kirika.

"I want to fly away."

"Me too, Kirika."

"Can I try?"

Mireille's eyes sort of widened at those words. She closed her eyes, relaxed, and chuckled in response.

Then, Mireille was thrust forward against the side of the boat, but she held tight. When the lurching stopped, she and the oarman stared at Kirkika, who was standing.

"What are you doing?" gasped Mireille.

In response, the teenager closed her eyes, confronted the breeze and spread her arms limply out as if they would transform into wings. Her clothes flapped gently as she stood in the wind.

"Sit--!" Mireille's words were pushed aside from thought as the boat tipped forward, lurching downward from Kirika's unbalanced weight. Water sprayed and spat at them, as they were shoved around from the passengers' struggles and Kriika's careless weight. Mireille found it hard to believe that Kirika was still standing, as if she had caused this, with no worries, just like Noir--

It was all over so quick. Mireille and the oarman were calmed, but Mireille was still aghast at what just happened. Kirika standing with no fear . . . the fear that clutched at Mireille's heart for Kirika's safety . . .

Kirika lowered her arms to her sides, but she stood still. She turned around, staring down at Mireille and their guide. She smiled. The French tried to determine whether seeing Kirika smiling was unusually good or unusually bad.

"That was fun," said Kirika.

Her friend gaped. "Even you could suffer from banging your head on the boat or drowning."

"You try," recommended Kirika.

"What did you say?"

"You try."

"No."

"Try."

"Why?"

"Because, you said you wanted to fly."

"Kirika, that wasn't flying. That was standing on a flimsy boat with your dead weight."

"Try."

"Kirika . . .!"

"Try."

"Kirika, that's ENOUGH."

"Try."

Irritated, Mireille stood up, but almost with reluctance. Their oarman bickered at them in angry impatience. Then she realized she was insane. "What am I doing?" she hissed to herself.

"Flying."

"See any wings here?"

"Yes. Angel wings."

Mireille stared back intensely with reading eyes.

Kirika's eyes were affectionate. "My angel. My killer angel."

Mireille almost smiled, but the weird sensation of the meaning behind Kirika's "compliment" wasn't so enlightening. The words were strangely touching, but the situation itself was awkward.

Mireille gave another famous sigh. Kirika turned around to face her, then wrapped her arms around Mireille's waist, squeezing herself closer. Not been touched for so long, Mireille shuddered with a light gasp. She couldn't respond. She went back to the days she'd been hugged ever: that was just before she killed her Uncle Claude. This memory suddenly triggered unrestrained tears. The French held her breath. The memories, the touch, the feeling, the dark past altogether were painful, good and bad. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this mesh of emotions.

And in her arms was the cause of all those painful memories.

Mireille didn't know how long the moment lasted. All she could feel and remember were the years of darkness that stole her from a real childhood.

And in her arms was the cause of all those painful memories.

Was it really Kirika's fault?

But in her arms was just a small Japanese, hugging her. Was that much to ask for? A hug? Love?

--

Four seconds after Mireille returned the embrace, she realized she didn't have to stop it. Another lurch punched the boat. In a wet, wooden flash the boat was tucked over. All three plunged into the water; Mireille and Kirika returned to the surface, gasping for breath, choking and coughing. The oarman waded to shore, squeezing his hat and checking his oars.

And out of the water, popped out a familiar face.

"FOUND IT!" announced Rhain, waving a wristwatch.

Mireille's eyes flashed straight at her at once. "YOU . . .!"

Rhain realized Mireille and Kirika were there beside her. She leaned away: "Uhhhh . . ."

"RHAIN!" roared Mireille, looking like she was determined to throttle the girl.

"Hey, I remember you!" blurted Rhain to Kirika, suddenly smiling, unaware of the red-faced blonde next to her.

"YES, Rhain!"

Mireille stopped in midair from jumping onto Rhain to drown her, but she froze when she heard that hushlike voice. Tsuki came into sight along a river bank of rocks. She was wearing a light sweater over an obvious red two-piece swimsuit. Gratefully, she waved to Rhain as Rhain waved back with the wristwatch in her grasp. Forgetting about the soaked Mireille and Kirika, Rhain returned to shore and handed the wristwatch to Tsuki. The Noir partners figured Tsuki must have lost the wristwatch while hovering around the river.

"Why are you here anyway?" nailed Mireille questioningly aloud to Tsuki. They followed Rhain, spoiling their clothes free of water and shaking the water out of their hair like dogs.

"Hey, this is a public river, ya know," retorted Rhain, pointing her statement out to the people surrounding them. On either side of them, a few groups of people were perched up on cement walls a few feet high. Some kids leaped from their perches and into the shallow waters, while others attempted to fish what was barely in the river.

"You're not allowed to swim here where boats go through," growled Mireille, already agitated.

"Like anyone listens to such pitiful rules," returned Rhain, grabbing a rope of her hair and twisting it free of water.

"I'm gonna--" Mireille stopped herself. This was no time to be rude and have Rhain get the better of her over something so pointless. Sometimes, Rhain just ticked her off. A horrible way for the American to shine off a first impression.

"Konichiwa." Tsuki bowed delightfully to Kirika again. Then she frowned at the sight of the oarman trying to get his boat carried to shore. "I'm sorry, did Rhain accidentally tip your boat?"

"Accidentally?" began Mireille. "No, she didn't. She just bucked us into the air like a bull and back into the water, that's all." Mireille turned to Kirika, more calm. "Are you okay? I know I am, but my tolerance level--"

"Hey!" defended Rhain, glaring at only Mireille. "If you dropped something in the river, wouldn't you want to go get it?"

Mireille stated flatly, "No. That's stupid."

"Well, Tsuki's wristwatch fell in so I was kind enough to go search for it for her! And you think I planned on finding it underneath so many rocks that were under your boat? I held my breath for so long, and I had no choice but to flip your boat--it was in the way! I thought no one was on top because I didn't hear anything--"

"Because--" Mireille caught herself. She was over-reacting and really, it was quite foolish of her. Plus, explaining the quiet boat was too awkward and was already demolishing her reputation. Though the Soldats weren't after them for now, criminals who've heard of Mireille's merciless reputation or those who have escaped her contracts may come after her. Only this time, Kirika would be endangered, and Mireille's unleashed emotions for her new friend would get in their way.

"Mireille . . ." announced Kirika in a murmur.

The Corsican blinked and twisted her eyes into a serious, suspicious dagger glare. "Why are you here? I find this odd that we're meeting you again."

"At least we have something in common," grumbled Rhain, a stubborn fist on her hip.

Tsuki sighed. "You're so rude when it comes to Mireille, Rhain . . ."

Alarmed, Mireille remembered it was only Kirika who introduced herself, not Mireille from their first encounter. Just before Mireille could speak, she was interrupted.

"Pardon me, ladies, could you help me with my gondala?" He added apologetically, "Frankly, an old man like me has seen the last of his youth."

Tsuki gave her guilty eyes. "We're so sorry. We have a car parked nearby. We'll give you a ride with your boat."

"We?" echoed Rhain with an arched eye brow. Tsuki was about to glare at her, but Rhain jested, "Joy, joy!"

"Can I hurt you?" muttered Mireille, but Rhain heard.

"Sorry, I'm off limits," jeered Rhain harshly, folding her arms and avoiding a stare with Mireille. She leaned closer to Tsuki, hissing through clenched teeth, "I hate this."

"Hold on," whispered Tsuki through gritted teeth, but with a false smile.

"And us?" Mirielle cleared her throat to rope attention back to Kirika and her.

"Oh, sorry, you can walk," declared Rhain before Tsuki could intervene. Tsuki slapped Rhain in the back. Hard. _"AHH."_

Before Mireille could kindly return Rhain's offer, Kirika waved her hands before her, smiling weakly. "Thank you. We'll walk. It's a lovely night, anyway . . ." Mireille stared at her speechlessly.

Rhain chuckled. "Yeah, after all, I'm sure all that shopping gave Mireille enough practice--"

Mireille was about to reach out her claws and give a nice shake, but Kirika stepped up and exchanged formal bows with Tsuki.

Before the two friends departed in their car, they waved. Rhain added hesistantly, "Take care, despite that I dislike you. Not hate, just dislike--"

Tsuki elbowed Rhain hard in the side. "Gah--fine, just take care."

"How about giving the people you dumped the courtesy of driving them to their apartment?" called Mireille.

Rhain stopped before entering the passenger's seat. "Um, nah. We wouldn't waste our time taking you to whever you live, and plus, this car's full of junk and a man in the back." The car's doors shut as the sisters drove away with the oarman accompanying them.

Mireille and Kirika watched the car mind-absently. After a minute, Mireille secretly slid her eyes sideways at Kirika, who looked like a quiet, forlorn girl standing there next to her. She exhaled, buckled the lip of her pink-white purse shut, and started walking the opposite direction. Before going any further, she looked over her shoulders at Kirika, who watched after her, as if confused.

Mireille turned around completely, slinging her purse over her shoulder carelessly for the first time. Her other hand was on her hip, while she threw a quizzical look at her partner, her friend. Then, her eyes began to reflect the glow of the approaching sunset above. Obliviously, she looked up at that eclipse-like heart that gave her a throbbing sensation. She looked back at Kirika, wondering if the girl would ever budge, realizing the girl gave her the same throbbing sensation.

She finally beckoned, "Kirika."

Kirika's deep, endless eyes perked up into Mireille's beckoning smile. A beckoning smile.

Mireille admired the Japanese's hair tinged with a rose-red haze, almost dyed. Their clothes were drying; they baked in the crimson glow.

"Kirika," repeated Mireille in a soft, yet dazed tone, "how many shadows do you see?"

Kirika, puzzled, gave a birdlike "Hm?" before heeding Mireille's question. Her eyes danced to the paved sidewalk: her own shadow stretched out like yearning, soft claws, and met with Mireille's.

"Two," whispered Kirika, not needing to force a smile for once.

It was Mireille's turn to smile. She turned away, and began to walk, a motion that Kirika finally understood. Exuberantly, the young Japanese trotted after her friend excitedly, joining her side as their shadows shook and danced together.

--

"Continue to be rude, Rhain," snorted Tsuki sarcastically as she steered on-to the right. Their hair whipped in their faces as they drove to the oarman's destination.

"I'm sorry, but that kind of attitude is just asking for a good knock to the boob!" snarled Rhain, mumbling underneath her breath--more likely swearing--at the thought of Mireille talking fresh with her. "I don't deserve this kind of talk from her; we're helping her and this is the thanks I get?"

"OhmyGOD, they don't know that!" reminded Tsuki, frustrated. "I don't wanna continue lecturing you, sister, but you have to save the attitude for the contract."

Rhain decided to change the subject, if she didn't want to go further on this argue with her sister. She outhaled before speaking, "Speaking of which, the contract?"

"Yeah. However, now that I think about it, I think we shouldn't be toying with Varrichione's life. Mireille and Kirika actually think they have signed a real contract. And Varrichione thinks he's actually in danger for having an innocent family killed after thinking he thought they were allied with an enemy of his. Who is the enemy, that doesn't matter. What matters is Kirika and Mireille."

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" muttered Rhain. She sighed, looking innocent for a moment. "That reality punch really got me whacked. How annoying."

"I know," Tsuki solemnly agreed, focusing hard on the road. "But we did this, for them."


	4. A Hidden Anger

Chapter 4: A Hidden Anger

Occasionally, Mirielle found Kirika the first awoke. Every morning it was always the sound of pans and pots rattling, tea cups clinking, and the smell of either pancakes, bacon, toast or maybe even just waffles--along with tea. Tea, their daily beverage. Mireille always found it pleasing to have another person there to make breakfast instead of her. But Kirika was suddenly the house maiden, which bothered the Corsican.

Mireille wanted to do it this time. If only she had waken earlier.

Yet, she didn't bother getting up, feeling rather lazy for the first time. For a moment, she just wanted to listen to Kirika do her daily schedule: the pots and pans moving a lot, the cat-like shuffle of her soundless feet, hissing and steaming of breakfast, the sound of that tea pot screaming.

The noise in the kitchen stopped.

Mireille heard foot steps and then she thought she heard plates and cups set at the pool table. Next, weight shifted the bed, claiming Kirika was sitting down. What was she doing, Mireille couldn't tell, until she heard the TV being flicked on. Ever since buying a TV in the hopes of entertainment or a better way of catching criminal news, they hadn't used it. However, Kirika, for the first time, decided to watch the news on television. It was surprisingly new to Mireille.

"You're awake." Kirika's tone sounded delighted.

"Yeah . . ." Mireille couldn't help smiling.

"The black thread . . ." murmured Kirika. "Our endless, devoted connection. The bind of the True Noir."

Mireille sat up in bed, keeping the covers over her lap. She stared at Kirika, whose attention was at the news. "I thought you didn't want to believe that we were this Noir. You've never wanted to mention, or think of it."

"I guess I have to face the fact that it's true. We both do . . ." Kirika was still watching television. She picked up the remote control, flipping through channels, as she said, "Eat, I made breakfast."

"As usual," stated Mireille with a defeated sigh. She stared at the pool table, spying the brightness of white eggs and crackling bacon with their tea. She walked toward the table and sat down, watching the news along with Kirika. "What about you--?"

"There's nothing good on," complained Kirika randomly.

Mireille couldn't help but giggle. She has never heard Kirika complain . . . like a child. Which was funny and cute. Kirika's words would have belonged to a sister.

Kirika turned to stare at her, her look of confusion asking Mireille.

"Nothing . . ." Mireille tried to hide her smiling as she ate her scrambled eggs. "It was just . . . Heh, nothing." She tried hiding her grin as she nibbled some eggs.

Kirika remained staring at Mireille until she decided to turn her attention back to television. She looked through the channels, until she happened to come upon a channel showing a girl with her cat.

Mireille chewed soundlessly. "Speaking of cute . . ." she mumbled to herself, lowering her eyes back to her food.

Kirika's eyes lit up, but showed no emotion on her face.

Mireille glanced at the screen one more time, until she realized she forgot to do something. She looked at the clock, then burst up from her chair and ran to the hall to slip her boots on.

Kirika saw her rush and look of panic. "What is it?"

"Just an errand," said Mireille casually in a hurried voice. Then she left with a slam of the door.

This left Kirika in silence once more, alone. She finally went to her plate to sip some tea and devoured her scrambled eggs. As she ate away on her breakfast, her heart leaked a sadness. So much for the special breakfast she made especially for Mireille. Kirika had hoped to have a nice start off of the day by making breakfast in bed for Mireille. She had hoped to have a good conversation with Mireille in the morning, but with Mireille's sudden departure, it ruptured her heart.

With that, she contined watching the screen which only showed the girl's happiness with her pet cat. When she finished, she walked over to the window and stared again, hoping to see Mireille return unharmed and quickly.

Time elapsed. Just the ticking of the clock on the wall, not as dangerously murderous as the forlorn pockewatch. Kirika stared at the clock: it was quarter past nine. Nothing to do whenever Mireille was gone to settle with matters Kirika had no clue of . . . nothing to do, but to wait, to wait for family to return.

The door opened, but Kirika didn't bother turning her head. She always knew it would be Mireille. She could easily distinct Mireille's squeaky, yet soft foot steps from anyone else's. The blonde always had a certain pace depending on the mood she was in. Now that she was back, Kirika realized her foot pace was gentle and calm.

She knew that every time Mireille returned from somewhere, she would sit down and read her magazines or announce something succinctly. Kirika had never understood why Mireille found a liking in her magazines.

Her ears caught a new, unfamiliar foot step.

Curiosity dragged her eyes to the dim reflection of the TV.

Soft steps. So light, almost like dancing on calm water. So soft, almost heavenly. Kirika turned around and watched as the black cat's curious head enthralled her. It flickered its swaying tail, its whiskers rustling to its sensations of the room. It mewed a few times, almost with careless curiosity. Finally, it began to pace around, rubbing its back against furniture. Mireille watched after it as well in a pondering expression.

"Hm, I wonder if it remembers you . . ." she began, pinning down the furball with her blue eyes of gentleness.

Kirika couldn't help but smile, not paying attention to the cat at all, but at Mireille.

Mireille continued to glare at the ignorant feline. "Huh, I even wonder if I kidnapped the wrong one . . ." Following her words, Mireille walked after the cat and tried to grab a hold of it, but it hissed shortly and dashed away under the pool table. The blonde hissed, "Unpleasant flea-bag . . ."

"Mireille . . ." breathed Kirika.

Mirielle looked over her shoulders at Kirika, and stood up straight calmly. She exhaled, disappointed. "Either it hates me and you, or hates me and doesn't remember you, or hates me and is just ignoring you at the moment."

"Mireille . . ." attempted Kirika, but Mireille interrupted.

"Why don't you try greeting it?"

Kirika looked at the black cat, who flicked its head in many directions to unfamiliar scents. It began to pace around again through its maze of wonders. Kirika walked after it. It halted, looked at her, and turned, but stopped when Kirika reached out her hand. Thinking food was rewarded, the cat cautiously crept closer. Its tiger-like eyes glowed endlessly at Kirika's palm, while sniffing it. Kirika stroked from its skull down its spine, to which the cat arched with pleasure.

"Look on the counter," advised Mireille.

Kirika stood carefully so an abrupt stand wouldn't scare off the alert cat. At the counter was an evelope that said, "Kirika". She took out paper--a check. Signed by Mireille Bouquet.

"It's on me. Use it to buy whatever your furball needs," said Mireille, flatly.

Kirika stared up at Mireille. She could tell Mireille was trying to avoid her eyes, by this time staring out the window.

"Mireille . . . I--"

"Before you get mushy on me," began the blonde stringently, "there are rules along with it. Since this is my apartment, I demand that you pick up its feces, you clean it, you wash it, you feed it, and you brush it. And we need to get it to a vet to make sure it's not carrying any diseases."

"It's a she," interrupted Kirika matter-of-factly.

Pause. "Whatever."

Unable to contain her blushing heart, Kirika blurted, "Thank you, Mireille."

"Oh, and one more thing," added Mireille, staring hotly. Kirika was con fused at her hot glares, until Mireille's face softened as she said with a smile, "I do not allow sad faces in my apartment, so--"

With an uncontained, kitten-like squeal, Kirika rammed into Mireille, squashing her under the pressure of her hug. Mireille froze like ice. Then, the ice melted and Kirika's accompanying warmth bled all the darkness away.

To be able to hold the thing most dear to her for the first time since they've met, Kirika nearly cried, and squeezed harder. She nuzzled her mop of dark brunette hair into Mireille's bosom, heart squeezing and wailing and falling with so many emotions.

After a moment's awkward pause, Mireille whispered, "Kirika . . ."

"Yes . . .?"

Mireille grunted.

Mireille didn't want to let go, but Kirika realized she was squeezing the blonde too hard. She smiled and released Mireille, giving one last real beam before scooping up her new friend. Then, she stared at the check. She paused and Mireille sensed some curiosity coming from the Japanese girl. Kirika looked up at Mireille, saying, "It's damp and cringed . . ."

Mireille closed her eyes, explaining briefly with an irritated tone, "Remember the day at the river? It was in my pocket that same day. That's why _she_ ticked me off."

"And while I went to buy ice-cream, you--"

"Went to buy you this . . . I thought I'd lose it ever since of Rhain." Mireille's hand reached and resting in its palm, Kirika smiled at the sight of a locket necklace. It looked like it was ripped in half. When Kirika took it, she opened it and saw a small picture of Mireille. She looked up. Mireille gave a small, shy smile as she took out the other half.

"I don't remember this picture . . ." murmured Kirika as she examined the picture Mireille had of her. In the picture, Kirika was smiling jubilantly. To Kirika, she was someone else in a forgotten past.

"I'm assuming when you were younger the Soldats didn't want you to stay in one school. To confuse opposing Soldats, I'm guessing they kept your identity secret by transfering you to different schools. And the personality you forged . . . a quiet personality like that probably didn't attract so much attention, so it was a smart way to keep any students from describing you to questioning enemies. By the way," added Mireille, jiggling the locket of Kirika's picture to the Japanese's face, "These pictures display different sides of Kirika. Smile often, okay?"

Kirika smiled and Mireille liked it.

On the television, the advertisements and commercials for a nearby fair popped up.

And just like that, Kirika requested, "A fair . . ."

Mireille whipped around to face Kirika. "Reminder: I just used up lots of money for your furball, ice-cream, and for the lockets. I'm not using it to waste on some fair--"

"When was the last time you had fun, Mireille? I'll pay back--"

"Kirika." Mireille paused. She couldn't believe her heart was melting at the sight of both Kirika and the cat's eyes looking ridiculously innocent and cute and pleading like beggars.

Mireille gave a defeated expression. "If this is what being a mother feels like, then I think I'll wait a little longer," she grumbled.

Mireille grabbed her purse and they left, bringing the check and the cat with them.

On their way to the park, Mireille said, "The fair doesn't start in another twenty minutes. Go ahead and buy Furball some things. Be back here in the park in twenty minutes. And BE there."

They seperated, both smiling pleasantly.

--

When Mireille got there, there was already an audience there. Hating crowds, she sat down on a nearby bench and pulled out her magazine. It was a small world here after all. Little of fresh, peaceful, real air. So much noise; the traffic, the people, the stores; Mireille wanted to move to the country side. That way, there would be no more cats--besides the furball she managed to capture for Kirika--no more people, no more streets, houses, stores, cars . . .

She heard something. She looked up from her magazine, seeing Kirika standing there, with numerous bags. In one of the bags, the cat's head poked out.

"Are you really faster than I thought?" jested Mireille, smiling.

Mireille took a closer glimpse at the cat. Around its neck was a collar, the shiny gold pendant the shape of a mouse. She couldn't catch a glimpse of its name since the cat wouldn't stop twitching its head this way and that.

"What's her name?" Mireille asked curiously.

"Mireille."

"Yes?"

"No, Mireille."

"What?"

"Her name is Mireille."

". . . OH . . ."

The French stared from Kirika to Mireille, her twin, her evil-colored cat twin. But, she found it interesting. She found it rather . . . touching.

The Corsican leaned down to stare at the cat nose-to-nose, who happened to be wiping her snugged face with the paw she licked.

"Mireille . . ."

The feline ignored her, licking away at its paw. Mireille stared.

"But it's not her real name," said Kirika.

"Hm?"

"She had a name before now. Now I feel . . . horrible." Kirika's head dipped down a bit.

"Huh?" asked Mireille cluelessly.

"I'm giving her a lie. A fake name."

It took a few seconds to hit Mireille. She fully understood everything with the cat. It was more like Kirika beyond the symbolism or representation. Looking up into Kirika's dampened expression, Mireille frowned in a thoughtful way:_ She thinks she's a lie. She thinks she only lies. Must be painful not being able to be who you really are, not knowing . . . Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to capture the cat._

Now Mireille felt like the guilty one.

"Kirika . . ." Mireille was interrupted by voices.

"WHOA, hey, you!" pinpointed Rhain from behind.

There was an attempted restrained growl from Mireille, who didn't need to turn around to guess who it was.

"What was that?"

"I said, joy, it's Tsuki and Rhain!" Mireille's face flickered into a cheery expression as she turned around to greet Rhain and Tsuki's arrival.

Tsuki joined Rhain's side. "We meet again."

"This is the third time if you haven't noticed," added Mireille. Her eyes narrowed: "Three. Days. Consecutively."

"You calling us stalkers?" growled Rhain.

"It's destiny." Mireille turned to Kirika, who had said those words. Kirika was staring at Rhain and Tsuki and repeated, "We were meant to meet. But, why?"

"Probably because we'll become close friends!" predicted Tsuki merrily, beaming at Kirika and the cat in her arms. She leaned forward and scratched under the cat's chin.

"Nah," said Rhain.

"Huh," concurred Mireille with disapproval. She fixed her eyes hard on Tsuki and Rhain, asking cooly, "Why are you here? You know, why are you here, at the same place as we are--is it for the same reason?"

"CreeeeEEEeeeep," alarmed Rhain in an annoying, singsong tune. She pointed a finger, exclaiming rather excitedly, "Pervert! Hoe-bag!"

Mireille's face was in shock as if a Soldat just told her everything she needed to know. She and Rhain were leaning toward each other, ready to claw. "How the hell old are you, anyway!?" said Mireille.

"HeyheyHEY--" began Tsuki.

"Valencia, LaCroix, quit slacking before I fire you!"

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared away at a 40-year-old lady smoking a cigarette. She whipped the cigarette out of her mouth, wrinkles defined every time she gave a grouchy mouth: "Get back to work! The fair's starting!"

Mireille and Kirika stared at the other girls; Tsuki was smiling weakly apologetically, while Rhain flipped. With a cocked eye brow, Mireille repeated, "Valencia? LaCroix? Who are you people?"

"We work here," explained Tsuki, smiling.

"Oh. May I ask what is your job?" asked Kirika.

"Don't--" began Rhain, but Tsuki already answered:

"Well . . . You guess," said Tsuki cheerfully with a short shrug. Then, she soundlessly imitated something that could have been a cheerleader.

Mireille stared, then chuckled, trying to maintain her maturity despite the temptation to mock Rhain. "Heh, a children's hug-of-fun, huh?"

"Was that aimed at me?" said Rhain through gritted teeth.

"Who else's face do I see in a lobster costume?"

"LaCroix, Valencia!" barked the older lady.

Mireille gave a mature grin as she asked Tsuki politely, "So, what exactly _do_ you do?"

"Well, I supervise young children in those baloon trampolines," explained Tsuki, ignoring Rhain's private steaming, "While Rhain walks around asking for hugs or waving at people, as Larry the Lobster."

"Did you have to describe it that way?" roared Rhain, losing her temper.

Tsuki laughed jokingly.

Rhain growled, "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Mireille stood there, eyeing Rhain, grinning at the corner of her mouth. Kirika ignored them as she stroked her cat. Yet, she did note the sizzling rivalry between Mireille and Rhain.

"How come I end up in the costume?" bellowed Rhain, turning to Tsuki.

"I was too small for it," reminded Tsuki. "Not to mention you're better at handsprints than I am."

"You think I can accomplish that in that costume?" roared Rhain.

"LaCroix--" began their manager.

Tsuki grabbed Rhain's hand, pulled her along, and dragged them away into a sprint. She waved over her shoulders at Noir, "We'll see ya around! Come visit our station--Rhain's gonna--"

"TSUKI!"

They were already disappeared behind mazes of tents and rides. Mireille folded her arms with pride as if she had conquered half of France. Kirika saw the grin, and realized that if people like Rhain could get Mireille into a more comfortable--yet hot-headed state--then Rhain and Tsuki were worth having around. Kirika actually enjoyed seeing Mireille in this kind of "loose" state. She was almost like a teenager, being in her twenties.

Mireille looked to Kirika. "So, haven't been to a fair, have ya?"

Kirika shook her head wordlessly.

"Well, then, I'll make sure this is your first and best you'll remember," assured Mireille with a cocky expression. She walked away, the gesture Kirika recognized as a beckoning. Kirika trotted along.

--

"Tsuki, I'm going to stab you when we get home," said Rhain in her lobster costume, realizing the fair mood was luring Tsuki into her more playful, careless personality.

Tsuki beamed from ear to ear, zipping up the back of the costume. "If you're going to, please don't use a butter knife on me, Larry."

Rhain growled. She attempted to swing around and knock Tsuki down, but that was to no avail considering how fat, heavy, and big her costume was. She swatted at no one successfully with those giant claws.

"Who gives a lobster a name? Who the HELL even makes a lobster Paris' fair mascot!?" roared Rhain.

"Start crawling, Larry, little kids are eager to take photographs with you," alerted Tsuki, gesturing children over two at a time.

"I have the sudden urge to scare them off with my pincers," muttered Rhain playfully to herself.

"Don't." Tsuki waved her arms and introduced Rhain to the children. When things were settled, she whispered, "Your shift will be within an hour and a half. So be there."

"What are _you_ doing, Nanny?" growled Rhain.

"I have my job, too. You're not alone," said Tsuki. She added sternly, "While you're at it, find some way to lure Noir to our next shift." She turned and left Rhain after the lobster got knocked down by two 3-year-old twins.

Kirika halted, with Mireille bumping into her. She turned her head, her chocolate pool-like eyes magnetized to ducklings going in circles with people trying to fish them out by the magnetic nuggets on their heads.

"A child's game, but I guess I'd do the same thing while being young lasts," said Mireille.

As they approached the man in the gaping hole of the circling pool, he declared, "Three bucks, three bucks! Catch your duck within the time limit! One duckling and you get a small prize--two ducklings or three and you have a medium--three or more and you have yourself a large--"

Mireille smiled politely as she handed him three bucks. She stood there, staring at Kirika, who looked at her quizzically as if it was all she could do. The cat hung there in Kirika's uncomfortable hug.

"You're going to suffocate her," cautioned Mireille. She took the cat, hoping she wouldn't scratch her. "Now go and get yourself a prize."

"Prize . . .?"

"Just try fishing those ducks out by those magnets on their heads. It's simple, really."

Kirika was given a fishing pole. Children or teenagers surrounded her, flinging and dangling their fish lines. She copied them and hesitantly wriggled her line over passing ducklings below her. Some easily slipped her fish line. Others she almost magnetized. Out all chances, she only got one and chose a small, velvety, shiny blue panda.

"Here," said a guy next to Kirika. She watched as he turned and bestowed his girl a stuffed giraffe. He gained an awe of delight and embrace.

Looking at her panda, Kirika turned to Mireille and gave it to her.

"I paid for you to get something for yourself," said Mireille, shaking her head but with a fond smile.

"You . . . don't win these for someone else?" said Kirika.

Mireille almost laughed, but contained herself so she wouldn't have to upset Kirika in a misunderstood way. "Who would, anyway?"

"I would."

Kirika proposed the blue panda again. Not wanting to disappoint the offer, Mireille exchanged Kirika's cat for the blue panda. After receiving it, she noticed Kirika's eyes glowing with excitement, so she was glad she made the choice of accepting something Kirika deserved more.

"What next?" she asked Kirika.

Kirika looked around. In the usual way, she glanced around almost blankly, almost lost in thought. By then, Mireille had gotten used to this strange mannerism of hers, and easily followed along. Whenever she saw Kirika stare at something for more than four seconds, she knew Kirika was curiously interested. Without hesitation, Mireille would just take a step next to Kirika, give her a gesture-like look--almost a smile--and would walk toward Kirika's choice. In the following events, together, they shot hoops, threw balls into ringed holes, tested their strength hammering the light up to the bells, popping balloons with darts under decent bargains, whacking moles, and even tested the heart-chilling rides.

"_The Speed_ . . .?" murmured Kirika, reading big glowing letters dashing across the midsection of a high beam. At the crossbar another horizontal beam met, with visible seats hanging at the ends. Like the motion of a windmill, the seats were spun all the way from top to bottom, backwards and fowards, and the screams were the same.

"You don't intend on riding that?" questioned Mireille, nearly shuddering. She looked from Kirika's curious, yet anxious expression and back at the ride. "You really want to ride that?"

Kirika appeared, at first, apprehensive, but took her last hesitant glance at the scary-looking heights, and walked into line of the Speed. Mireille nearly shuddered as she watched after her friend.

Kirika turned her head. "Are you scared?" she asked, almost emotionlessly.

Mireille stared at her a few feet away. Without answering, she asked the question instead: "You're more brave than I give credit."

Kirika gave another blank expression, then it frowned into another tentative round. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Of course not," snapped Mireille instantly, but with less force. She almost grinned. "You're brave, though. Of course, I should expect that out of you."

Kirika didn't like the sounds of that "expectation", but brushed it off. Mireille just stood there, so, standing in line, Kirika pressed on in wait. When it was her turn five minutes later, Mireille began to fidget with her white-striped purse as the girl was fastened into her walled seat. Kirika didn't look at Mireille, but 2020rather at around her, below her, and especially up. Mireille didn't know why she was so concerned--the girl was Noir, for heaven's sake. It wasn't as if Soldats were waiting at the top ready to push Kirika off. Like that would happen.

--

"You sure you feeling okay?" pressured Mireille for the third time.

Kirika nodded slightly, though her blank expression betrayed the illness in her damp eyes. Mireille gave the girl credits for hiding her emotions, especially her fear. It was either that or Kirika trying to hide how truly ill she felt from the ride. As they sat down on a bench table, she watched as the Japanese bent over her thighs and clung her stomach as if something was stabbing and rolling inside.

"Don't throw up on me," Mireille nearly ordered. The results would be disgusting and she didn't want to clean it up.

Kirika sat up again, though her eyes swirled from the nausea from the Speed.

For some reason, Mireille almost chuckled. "Heh, you, afraid of heights. I recall those were one of the things you were good at--jumping really high."

Kirika barely murmured in wordless response.

"It's either that, or you just got sick to your stomach. I'm sure you've never experienced the feeling of flying, especially upside down and in constant rotation."

"Mireille . . ."

"Is it getting worse?"

"I'm feeling better . . ."

Mireille almost glared. "Really."

"No, really." Kirika was upset that she was already wasting ten more minutes over this stupid motion sickness. She didn't want their day ruined. Things were running so smoothly until the Speed. Now, she determined to keep this day everlasting.

"If you're sure . . ." said Mireille as they stood up. She eyed Kirika sharply. The girl almost drooped forward to the abrupt motion, but stood up straight and gave a shy, pale smile.

So, not wanting to argue, Noir continued the fair activities. An hour already slipped, and down to their hour and a half they came across target-shooting. At first, Kirika didn't want to have to pull a trigger ever again, but Mireille had to remind her that this was a toy and a game.

"Why ducks?" wondered Kirika aloud as she prepared the toy rifle.

"Why care?" remarked Mireille.

"Steady, now, steady," said the person in charge.

"He thinks he's a pro," muttered Mireille. She watched as Kirika fired successfully at the bulls-eyes of the passing plastic ducks. She watched with glee, in fact. Here, they could still use guns and look like ordinary people for once. And for once, as she listened to Kirika pulling the trigger, she could hear the bell of freedom as no bullets returned fire. For once, no one fired back at the sound of a gunshot . . . what heavenly relief.

"Mireille," summoned Kirika. Mireille blinked out from her reverie. Kirika handed her the rifle in a questioning proposal.

In response, Mireille shook her head firmly, which surprised Kirika.

Suddenly, there was a chicken cluck.

At first, Noir thought real chickens were nearby. But, as they stared to a stretched stand where a box of prison bars guarded a small pool, they spied Rhain grinning from behind the bars.

"Chicken head!" she mocked.

"Is that the best you can do?" backfired Mireille, putting a hand on a hip. She narrowed her eyes. "You're forgetting who's the fool behind bars."

Rhain pursed her lips purposely. "You insulting me?"

"Yeah."

"No one has dumped me yet."

"I bet you barely made any cents. You're horrible at insults."

"Barbie-girl stripper."

Mireille grabbed Kirika's rifle and fired. Her fire punched the bulls-eye and Rhain was dumped.

Audiences walking or standing nearby laughed hysterically. Rhain resurfaced, supporting herself back onto her seat with her hands grappling the bars. She hoisted herself up and sat, soaked.

"You forgot to pay," she growled.

"Sorry." Mireille fired again.

Rhain fell. More laughter. The man in charge of the target-shooting complained. Mireille surrendered the rifle and began to walk away, until Tsuki's voice stopped her.

"Nice shot. You own video games, or something?" the Asian asked with her constant, friendly smile. She approached them.

"No," said Mireille, impacted by that weird question. "I . . . practice."

Tsuki found that funny. "Keep it up."

"HEY!" roared Rhain from her bars.

"Better work better on your insults if you're to gain money," announced Mireille. "As far as I'm concerned, you're a hobbo."

"CRPYT-KEEPER!"

Mireille was about to grab the rifle again, but Tsuki motioned with an index finger: "That's three dollars."

The blonde threw her wallet at her--to Tsuki's surprise--grabbed five balls, and threw two at Rhain's cage to scare the crap out of her, and the rest successfully at the bulls-eye.

"TAKE HER WALLET, TSUKI, RUN AWAY!" pressured Rhain frantically after realizing Mireille had thrown her wallet to Tsuki. Tsuki just shook her head and handed the walllet to Kirika after taking the three dollars.

Mireille glared. When Rhain pretended she was Mireille walking like a Legally Blonde fanatic, Mireille was about to pull out her real gun until Kirika whispered like a bird:

"Where'd Mireille go?"

Mireille forgot about the black cat. She paused and looked at Kirika, who seemed panicked. Sighing, she turned to both Tsuki and Rhain calmly. "We'll be on our way. Good luck."

"HEY, stay here so I can insult you!" challenged Rhain.

"She's right," admitted Tsuki with a frown, "you _are_ a failure to society." When Noir disappeared, Tsuki turned to Rhain, laughing. "You sure are bonding," she joked.

"Oh, the sugary love," replied Rhain. Then, her face turned serious when she knew no one was listening. She thinned a look at her sworn sister. "Everything set?"

Tsuki nodded, almost smiling, but in a grim way. "Black is black. They have to reveal their true color, soon."

--

"Mireille?" Kirika halted and paused.

"Hm?" Mireille replied, curious at why the girl stopped.

"She's not here where we left her."

"Well, of course not, she's a cat. They wander better than dogs."

They approached Mireille's Moped in the parking lot. It was chained, but the leash that tied the cat to the Moped was catless.

"Why did you get it a collar in the first place? Cats don't wear collars, and who would really want to steal a cat? She probably just wandered off." Now that she thought about it, Mireille couldn't help but smile. Kirika was _too_ clueless. She was so clueless about general things in life that she didn't even know a cat didn't need a leash.

It wasn't the right time to smile, though. Mireille wanted to assure Kirika that everything was going to be fine, but the logic of the situation was evident: cats don't have thumbs. If a pet Kirika cherished was target of an unknown suspicion, then this had a death aroma stenching behind it.

In an insant, Kirika's fingers began to teasingly tap against her side nervously. And with alert.

She suddenly picked up a piece of paper and shared its words with Mireille: Kirika stopped in the middle of the last part of the sentence, telling Mireille, "He knew."

Mireille should have told Kirika to keep her eyes off their target at all times. She took in a deep breath and commanded Kirika to read the last bit. Kirika said, "That's all . . ."

"Gives us another reason why we should assassinate the same man," joked Mireille, but knew this wasn't the speck funny: A burning color in Kirika's soft eyes abrupted, darkening her eyes. However, these same eyes shuddered nearly with angry tears of concern. Apparently, she was frustrated.

Mireille stared with thought: _She doesn't want to lose this part of her . . ._

Kirika drew out her gun, loading it.

Mireille did too. "I guess our mission begins from here."

--

"What is it?" asked Rhain.

"A cat?" whispered Tsuki, coal-dark eyes solid with alert and concern.

Rhain gave her a hard, observant stare asking an explanation. Tsuki just continued to glare in concentration, so Rhain did as she did and osberved their surroundings. Now that they thought about it, Noir had mentioned of searching for a cat. Since when or from where did this cat come? Even so, why did they bother bringing it or even leaving it alone? The significance of the cat, for some reason, triggered an awarenesss in Tsuki. Then, she remembered how devoted Kirika was to cats.

Something flashed through Tsuki's mind. She immediately hissed, "From the very beginning . . . V planned the cat. He has watched Noir for some time . . ."

Rhain followed along instantly. She gasped in anger: "He knew about Noir before they learned of him. Probably not too long from when we gave him the false warning of the threats against him from the Soldats . . .!"

Tsuki broke into a jog, Rhain following. "He saw her tenderness for animals. Of course. The cat . . ." They both thought it at the same time: V had a cat to deliberately lure Kirika's attention; merely a small, benign distraction. He knew Mireille's softness for Kirika's fondness of cats. He knew she'd do anything for Kirika's happiness. He knew by keeping his cat around the street where Noir resided, that Mireille would find it and Kirika would grow attached to it. The bond between cat and owner was complete, and her determination to retrieve "her cat" was at full accordance to his plan.

"Being under the Soldats before betraying another family faction probably gave V enough time to find information about Noir," panted Rhain. They wove through pairs and groups roughly, receiving yells. "He was a Soldat before becoming a traitor. Thinking the Soldats would send someone of high rank to sanction him for this crime, he knew it'd be Noir. He looked Noir up. He sent his men to spy and look for weaknesses before Noir knew of our contract to sanction him. Now, they're on their way . . ."

Tsuki pulled her along, "SHIT!! It's too soon--if they're already in the hotel, they could die and it'll be all our fault!"

They jostled and practically ran down anyone in their way as they dashed off toward V's hotel. They bounded across the streets, cars shrieking and people cursing at them as they didn't stop; they even had to leap on cars to get to the other side of the street.

Rhain gasped as they drew closer: "Who knows where they are now--split up!"

Tsuki nodded. She turned a sharp left, running along the hotel to find a different entrance, separating from her oath sister. Rhain found a water pipe snaked up along the wall and climbed it like a strategical rock climber. The first small porch she reached, she looked through the glass doors quickly. She knocked. A couple sitting at their table watching TV came to the window in confusion over the noise. They opened it.

"Thanks!" she declared as she burst pass them, ignoring their fright and confusion.

Darting through their room, out into the hallway, and stopping for pause, she listened. No gunshots, not yet. Even she and Tsuki didn't know the exact room V was renting.

Tsuki had accessed a back door; she climbed the stairs in quick pace. But neither sister could reach in time. Mireille and Kirika were already in a battle. Mireille was in one room, where a family was held in custody by two hench-men who happened to be guards of V. She still fumed over how they knew of Noir's arrival, but didn't have time. A family was held custody before her eyes. She knew she was a killer; her life was all about killing, for it was a living for her. But when she examined the completely innocent and frightened-to-death faces of a mother with a 13-year-old daughter, and a father with an infant son--Mireille's perspective on everything changed. This family . . . her family's murder . . . she couldn't let another family die only because they were trying to keep their children safe . . . the same way her parents tried keeping her from becoming one of the Soldats . . .

One guard grabbed the daughter easily from her mother's grasp, and held her before him, arresting her like a criminal. He moved sideways with her before him as a shield, keeping his beady eyes on Mireille. His partner was behind him for protection; they both knew Mireille wouldn't take a girl's life in order to get them.

The guard put his gun to the girl's head. She screamed, crying, frightened. The mother and father begged for mercy for her sake, tears flying so quickly.

"PLEASSSSSEEE!" they shrieked pleadingly to Mireille. Mireille's eyes moved from them to their daughter. The daughter was sobbing madly, struggling to pry free from the man.

_"Please!"_ continued the parents.

Mireille knew if she hesitated, she would allow their cries bring attention to other rooms. Mireille lowered her gun, her heart shuddering in pain at the sight. Watching with disappointment and frustration, she allowed the enemy to slowly escape out the door with the daughter.

Mireille aimed her gun back at them again.

"NOOOO--!" the parents cried as the gun went off. The baby joined, bawling.

The man's hand was caked in red as he let go in pain, and the daughter fell to the floor along with him.

The fallen guard's partner from behind, shot at Mireille. Mireille dodged; the bullet nearly struck the parents, but they crouched behind the master bed. Mireille bounced off the wall, a dodging technique of Kirika's, and shot at both men. They fell dead, adding to the continous sea of red creeping across the floor.

When the parents heard the shooting stop, they peered from behind the bed and cried when they saw their girl lying on the floor, surrounded by a red halo. The man ran over to dial 911, but Mireille fired at the wired phone, completely destroying it. The man dropped the receiver and backed away, eyes swollen with tears.

Mireille frowned. "She's fine."

She walked over their daughter and helped her up, cleaning off the girl's blood-stained sweater with a napkin she found on a nearbly table. Then, she walked away, while the parents hugged their daughter, still crying. However, she turned around, pointing her gun at them. They gasped and stared, almost with anger and confusion.

Mireille slowly backed out their room, warning, "No telling identifications. Take it as your I-O-U to me."

As soon as Mireille stepped out of their room, bullets whipped by. She evaded them and hit the floor. When she remembered the family inside the room, undefended, she used her foot to slam their door closed. Then, she scrambled to her feet and escaped around a corner. The gunmen followed in pursuit, guns aimlessly firing purposelessly in roars of war.

Then, she was cornered at the end of the hallway. Four men gained on her like walking, illusional shadows. They fired a storm of bullets at her, and to her luck she managed to dodge them stupidly. Her eyes flicked over to a flower vase on a wooden table. She grabbed the vase at once and threw it at one of her attackers; the glass pierced his head and he collapsed; the rest continued firing. She executed the wall technique, soaring and dodging in midair._ Boy's eye._ Two more remained. She landed crouched on her legs and did all she could to dodge bullets.

To her surprise--for someone who gets less hurt than her partner--Mirelle got shot in her dominant bicep. Pain screamed and bit; she dropped her gun at once and staggered heavily, almost into collapse. She winced, flexing her fingers to see how strained the pain was: she couldn't move her fingers, for the pulling and bleeding of the muscles and veins inside her bicep began to pound.

They fired at her. Despite the uselessness of her entire right arm, Mireille dodge-rolled till she made it underneath a thick table from which she had received the flower vase. At once, she knocked it down in front of her, making it her wall from the bullets. The men ran over, knowing that she couldn't shoot. As they were two feet away from her cover, Mi2020reille picked up the wooden table--her biceps pulsed painfully--and used it like a charging shield. She knocked at least the second to last man out. The last remained.

He kicked the table out of Mirelle's hands and punched her in the face, knocking her down. With no gun to reach for, and with no strength left, Mireille laid there, knowing death when she saw it. He pointed his gun down at her, grinning, bidding her good riddance.

As she seem to stare into death, she remembered why she was alive now.

Click.

_Kirika._

She rolled as he fired.

_She's gotten this far because of Kirika._

Impatiently, he fired again, and she kept rolling.

She was alive because of Kirika; she was going to stay alive because Kirika would be there--Kirika was someone who actually was waiting for Mireile to return. _Waiting._

The gunman gave up shooting and raised his foot to beat her down in the stomach. He didn't though--with Kirika in her thoughts, Mireille used her strength and determination and stopped the man's foot in midair with her hands. Both her hands and his foot trembled to win over this. The strain on her bleeding bicep dissuaded her. She needed to stop the bleeding fast, unsure if he'd shot one of her veins.

Using this as an oppertunity, Mireille pressed her hands against the floor and did a quick handstand, her legs hitting the man in the lower jaw. She landed on her feet, got his gun, and shot him.

Then she staggered, dropped to her knees, and released her grip on the gun.

But she thought of Kirika again. She forgot that Kirika was in battle as well. She stole her dead enemy's remaining magazines. Then, ripping strips of fabric from her dead enemies' sleeves, she tightened a band as hard as she could around her wound, feeling the presssure, knowing it would slow the bloodflow. Then, she looked up and ran for Kirika.


	5. Three Seconds

Chapter 5: Three Seconds

When she was cornered by about six men, Kirika fired her gun to break the glass that kept the hotel's fire alarm from reach. With the glass shards, she charged at two of them. They stood in shock at her agility, which she took as a chance to jump; she struck them both in the throats with the glass. They toppled to death. Two more men charged, firing blindly. Kirika used the rest of the scattered shards on the floor by kicking them and spraying them into the men's eyes. They died instantly after the following gunfire.

Careless of their pitiful skills, the remaining two enemies charged stupidly. The first tried his last shot, but he obviously missed her by yards. He dared to throw a punch at her. She ducked, flipped backwards, and in the process, her legs caught the man's head in between and she used all her force to flip him with her--she broke his neck after ramming him onto the floor with the full force of her legs.

"Ohmygod," panicked the survivor.

Stupidly, he stood there. Then, without thinking, he raised his gun and fired aimlessly, the glow of bullets flaring bright orange in his eyes. Kirika didn't need to dodge; his hands were trembling, and so was his aim. She jumped off his chest and into the air, flipping upside down and catapulted off the ceiling, diving back toward him, her gun aimed at his mouth. Her bullet soared into his mouth and he fell before she landed on her two feet. She reloaded her gun, and stole her enemies' guns.

Turning around, more bullets flashed past her like red arrows. Considering her status, she was wasting too much time and energy on men she knew couldn't take her on. Her main concern was to find Mireille and make sure she was okay. The assassin evaded the bullets, turned a corner, and escaped down the stairs that led to the first floor, sneaking past those above suspicion.

--

"Where. _Are_. They?" growled Rhain, as she searched through the last floor.

She'd already passed a weeping family who said their daughter have been in jeapardy because of a blonde; on the second and third floor laid men with blood, glass, vase shards, and table marking their doom. Evidently, these were signs of Kirika and Mireille's success, but no traces of where Noir was.

_They've probably managed to escape--but what about Varrichione?_ thought Rhain, as she finally descended to the first floor, slipping past people who had already heard the commotions from above. She heard people shouting to call 911, while others panicked or wondered aloud what was going on. She slid outside and kept running the streets, seeing if she could find either Tsuki, Mireille, or Kirika.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," cursed Tsuki. After all the trouble of trying to bond Noir, they only jeopardized them. "That's it, no more involvements with others' relationships . . ." She resumed searching, scanned the crowds, observed the parking lots, parks, and stores. She overhead the fire trucks and cops' sirens whining amongst the calm air of Paris. That was even worse.

She couldn't find Kirika. All she found were blood-shedding corpses of V's men. She assumed Kirika was okay all by herself, but she wondered if Kirika even managed to sanction V and rescue her cat.

The shots from behind brought Mireille back. Screams filled her ears, surrounding her as people retreated to the side and cops were alerted. _Not now!_ she begged, as she tensed her muscles, awkwardly running as she clutched her blood-soaked arm.

_Kirika . . ._

"Ohmygod, that woman has a gun!"

"Police! Over here--a blonde!"

"Someone stop her--"

"Everyone out of the way--!"

"Look out!"

"Duck!"

_STUPID!_ thought a frustrated Mireille as three men pursued her, others dragging each other away from the conflict. It would have been easy to turn and kill them to stop pursuit, but Mireille couldn't do that on the innocent. Nor could she afford losing valuable bullets. It wasn't worth it, anyway.

Her eyes widened in surprise when she spotted a familiar brunette head up ahead.

_Kirika!_

Kirika's head was flicking this way and that in panic and confusion. As Mireille ran closer from behind Kirika, she realized Kirika was not bleeding. She wasn't holding a gun. Mireille knew this was a good disguise for Kirika: no one could tell she was involved. Everyone was aimed at Mireille. Mireille tried to keep track of the bobbing brunette head as she ran closer, pushing people aside, gun prepared if it was necessary to shoot anyone who got in her way.

If she tried ducking into alleys, she would be cornered no matter what. She didn't want Kirika to give herself away either if Kirika saw her. Then, Mireille realized going anywhere near Kirika would only jeopardize both of them. She ignored Kirika and took a sharp left through crowds, farther from Kirika.

"MIREIILLE!"

_No, Kirika . . .!_ she thought furiously, knowing the girl had blown her own cover.

She turned her head as she ran, then halted, realizing that it wasn't Kirika. Mireille's blue eyes stretched as she gasped almost soundlessly.

"Hey, that other girl--she knows the gunner!"

"Stop both of them--"

The police jostled in: "Move! Clear the sidewalk--now!" They ran toward the duo, aiming guns.

"TSUKI!" yelled Mireille, aiming her non-dominant hand and firing at the cops, only making them back away without harming them.

Tsuki ducked from Mireille's rain of fire. When she realized she was an additional target, she got up and ran toward Mireille. The cops fired or yelled after them, but Mireille fired back to force them to find cover. When they did behind cafes, bushes, or other sidewalk obstacles, Mireille and Tsuki darted around a corner up another street.

". . . Is that a _gun_ in your hand--?" Tsuki paused when she saw Mireille's bleeding arm. "Mireille, your arm--!"

The French didn't bother answering; they panted as they continued to run, running out of stamina gradually. Currently, her mind was too focused on something to heed Tsuki's snaps. She had to find Kirika, she just had to--

More bullets.

The two sped through an outside restaurant, racing down any street they could find free of V's guards. She had no choice but to shoot if it was the only way to slow them from catching up. As they continued running, Mireille made sure Tsuki got the message to stay with her if she wanted to live, while Mirelle reloaded her gun and fired over her shoulders. Her shots were weak since she was using her non-dominant hand, but each fire was necessary to slow down their pursuers.

From roofs above them, more gunfire.

"He has them everywhere!" hissed Mireille. She saw Tsuki getting tired. If Tsuki stopped in defeat because she was out of breath, she would get shot. She would get shot because she would be mistakened for being part of the attempted assassination. Mireille had to find a resting spot, a hiding place for them both. She needed to tend to her bleeding, and make sure Tsuki escaped without her safely. It was Mireille's fault that Tsuki was involved.

As they ran, Mireille tossed Tsuki a gun: "In case I can't protect you . . ." she panted before Tsuki could say anything.

Tsuki followed Mireille as they ran over a bridge that stretched two stories high over a calm river.

"What are we going to do?" asked the Asian.

"Just do as I do," ordered Mireille. "If you want to live."

Both stopped as they inched toward the edge of the bridge's railing.

Tsuki shouted, "What are you THINKING--?"

"Climb."

"What do you mean--?"

Tsuki understood. They would have been better off if Mireille had explained in better detail, but obviously they didn't have the time. The bridge would provide a hiding place as well as protection from open fire. Tsuki swooped her legs over the railing, turned around as she held onto the edge, then dropped. A second after she fell, her hands caught the holding of the angel statues supporting the bridge up. With effort, she grunted and hauled herself on top of the intricate details of the statues. She wedged herself into the gap between an angel head and its trumpet. Then, she sat there, looking up in fear for Mireille, whom she could barely see.

There were gunfires.

"MIREILLE!" screamed Tsuki, her sight obscured by the bridge.

A figure dropped by her, and splashed into the shallow waters below Tsuki. Panicking, Tsuki leaned over from her perch, staring wide-eyed in search for Mireille. She watched as she saw a vague shadow slithering closer under the bridge, until Mireille resurfaced through a cold burst, gasping quietly.

"Mirei--!" began Tsuki, relieved, but gunfires interrupted.

Mireille submerged, then emerged at the cold stone walls, and tucked herself to them. At first she gasped at the shuddering, burning pain the water gave to her open wound. However, she began the process of loading her gun. Within minutes, Varrichione's henchmen ran down the hills that rolled alongside the bridge. Some trudged through the shores, spying Mireille hidden in the shadows, while others stood from their grassy safeties and aimed.

However, before they actually fired, Mireille shouted quickly: "TSUKI, your gun!"

Without hesitation, Tsuki took to Mireille's words, flashed out her gun, and fired down all guards. Some fell into the shallows, others fell backwards on their knees. Few nearby witnesses screamed and fled. The sirens from downtown wheeled closer.

Mireille stared breathlessly at the accurate body count Tsuki just executed. She stared up at Tsuki, who held the gun like a professional with an expert's serious face: alert eyes, calm expression, and an assassin's frown. Just like Kirika's. And her own.

_SplashSplashSplash._ In an instant, Mireille turned around, as a hidden man from the other side of the bridge joined her under the bridge. He pulled out his gun and fired.

--

"MIREILLE!"

Kirika push herself into him. Both plunged into the greedy coldness awaiting below. Mireille didn't care about her pain anymore--she struck out her dominant arm and fired before the man could aim down at Kirika sitting up in the shallows.

He fell and missed Kirika. After his fall, Kirika and Mireille exchanged relieved, but wearied eyes. They gasped from the exertion of energy, glad the other was safe.

But not unharmed.

Kirika saw the bleeding bicep. Mireille saw the shin where Kirika had been shot.

As they dragged through the waters to approach the other, Mireille breathed, "Kirika . . ." She was speechless, panting dramatically.

Kirika panted as well. She was about to run into Mireille's arms warmingly, but she staggered forward at the pain in her shin as if she'd been pulled by forceful chains. Mireille slumped forward to catch her, but Kirika caught herself. She only helped herself up as she stared into Mireille's face. Their eyes smiled as they panted.

BANG.

They turned their attention back to Tsuki, who fell from her perch on the statues and into the water.

"Tsuki--?" began Kirika, gasping breathlessly.

Mireille whirled around, wide-eyed. Tsuki had been shot; the blood fogging the water was proof of that. Noir staggered over to where she fell, but Tsuki stood up, coughing, wiping water and hair from her face. She clutched her side. The wound appeared to be somewhere under her ribs; Noir didn't know how deep it was.

Before they reached Tsuki, more enemies appeared at shore. From behind, they aimed at the Asian, whose back faced them, vulnerable.

"Tsuki--!" began Kirika.

However, before the enemy fired, they were _lit_ on fire.

From behind, palms struck out flat, stood Rhain. Distracted by the walking human pillars of fire, Noir ignored Rhain momentarily. Their enemy panicked, screaming for mercy in the bobbing flames of hell; even when they stopped, dropped, and rolled, they could not take out the flames. The flames scraped the flesh from them. What remained was easily swallowed by the breaths of fire, which continued to stagger along the ground.

Mireille, Kirika, and Tsuki stared:

Rhain walked into sight. She smiled with satisfactory and relief that all three of them were alive. Before Mireille could mouth anything, confused, fires raged from behind, men shouting. Rhain dodged the bullets, and then quickly whipped around to face Tsuki. Mireille and Kirika saw Tsuki nod, and Rhain nodded back.

Before anyone could say anything, Tsuki jumped to avoid more gunfire, and fired at two men. She flipped slowly as she descended and landed next to Rhain. They stared over their shoulders at Mireille and Kirika, and smiled.

Tsuki whipped out the guns she stole from Mireille. She twirled the guns around by the triggers with her fingers, professionally, as if she was an assassin the entire time.

Kirika and Mireille's eyes widen in surprise, shock, confusion.

"You . . ." whispered Mireille.

"They . . . can fight . . ." added Kirika.

Rhain added with a nice smile that was actually directed at Mireille. "We're here." As heartwarming those words were, they still paralyzed Noir in confusion.

"Let's see," mused Rhain with a creepy, hidden grin. She pulled out a palm-sized pad of _sticky paper_, pulled out a small paintbrush with black paint, and pointed at her enemies to count: _"Ichi, ni, san, chi . . ."_ She started scribbling down as if she was a Japanese artist.

Mireille stared with a dropped jaw, impacted by Rhain's strange activity.

Beside her, Tsuki wielded two guns in both stretched-out hands. As the men advanced, Rhain strode in first before Tsuki, while Tsuki covered her from behind at any surrounding men. At collision, Rhain's adversary threw punches at her, adding elbow flicks. However, she ducked and dodged--she slid by him, kicking away another man.

Noir stared at Rhain's first victim: from his chest, he ripped off a piece of Rhain's sticky pad paper. Black symbols of Japanese dialect left their printmarks on his fine suit.

Following Rhain, Tsuki slid into him and punched him right where the sticky pad was. When he got up a few feet away, Noir's eyes reflected hell:

He _burst_ into flames.

As the stenched smell of rotten flesh filtered Noir's nostrils, an additional scent burned:

_"Oil?"_ murmured Kirika, stifling her nose.

"That's right," announced Rhain as everyone, including their enemies, stood in paralyzation. She poked the air with her black-capped paintbrush, winking. "It isn't paint. It's oil."

Rhain caught two nearby men off guard in their shock, slapping her sticky notes against their chests, foreheads, legs, or backs. Tsuki followed up with her own series of punches.

Those two men were also twisted into threads of fire. Tsuki stood up straight, revealing to Noir a cigarette lighter snugged between her clenched fingers. "She links them to the oil, I ignite them with a single punch and press of a button."

"Why fire?" asked Mireille seriously, disgusted as far as gross assassinations went.

"No one would suspect paint to be oil unless they looked close enough," retorted Rhain. From behind, a man locked her into a bear hug, arms cushioning underneath her armpits and fists pressed against her back. She bloomed her arms forcefully like unfolding wings, while at the same time crouching and stepping on one of his feet. Then, she heeled him in the groin, picked up a stick on the ground, and stabbed him through his sunglasses. His roar of death wailed out to the sun. "Plus, fire wipes out evidence of bloodshed."

"And the aroma of death?" challenged Kirika, almost with a disgusted tone, as she tried not to look at Rhain's recent victim.

"The river next to us will wash away the scent with its own," said Rhain casually. She let go of her stabbing stick, looking at it gleaming in dirt-red. "The fire will burn away the scents of our black deeds . . ."

"So fire is your solution, huh?" stated Mireille.

Tsuki stared at the injured state Noir was posed in. She said matter-of-factly, "Natural death seems more . . . merciful than death by the hands of a human. The guns you humans use these days are the worst atrocities the world has ever seen."

"You call fire as merciful as ending one's life with one bullet in a split second?" queried Mireille as if this was a rivalry's test.

"No. I see it more like smothering his flame of life," murmured Tsuki as if offended by Noir's stabbing, deplorable words.

Before Mireille could open her mouth, Rhain's ears perked up at the sound of firemen and the police drawing nearer. Her eyes thinned dangerously as she glared: "You should have taken this opportunity to escape. Go. There's a hole that leads into the sewers just in the wall under the bridge . . ."

Rhain bent to her knees, pasted her sticky notes to the ground, and lit them with the matches Tsuki lit for her. Tsuki dashed to the other side of the bridge and triggered rings of flames with her cigarette lighter.

"Heat rises," murmured Rhain as fire scrambled up the rolling hills alongside the bridge like burnt squirrels. She turned to Mireille and Kirika: "GO!"

Mireille and Kirika were at first hesitant, but as they turned, they stared, eyes honoring Tsuki and Rhain.

Mireille supported Kirika with care as they dragged into the sewers. As they soaked themselves deeper into the darkness of the sewers, the raging, trembling fire and buzz of authority began to fade.

--

Mireille managed to get them deep into the heart of the sewer passages. There, her strength left her and she dropped to the cold, stone floor, weighing Kirika along with her. They laid there for about a few seconds, until Kirika remembered her promise to Odette Bouquet: to be Mireille's strength, to care for Mireille. Kirika struggled to move upon her legs for support, yet she toppled to the floor again, whimpering in pain.

She gasped at the pain, whining. "Mireille," she breathed, ". . . I'm sorry . . ."

"Hey," panted Mireille with a quivering, weak smile. "We both got ourselves into this, don't go on taking all the blame . . ."

"I was selfish," continued Kirika blindly as if Mireille hadn't talked. She pulled herself up to sit up, then leaned against the filthy wall. "I was so blind, so obsessed with the cat . . . she was, so much like me."

Mireille, slumped, stared blindly into the abyss, trying to chisel out Kirika's faint outline. "Kirika."

"I didn't . . . want to lose what was still left of me," continued Kirika. She spoke into the darkness as if it was her silent lover. "She . . . was all that harbored half of who I am . . . Now, I lost her to him . . . and I'll lose you, the real Mireille, my real sacrament--"

Mireille almost chuckled lightly. "You're forgetting I bought that cat willingly, for you. For your happiness . . ."

Then, Kirika whispered, "It's cold . . ."

"Hold on . . ." Mireille scooted closer, trying to feel for Kirika' wound. "Where is it, lemme fix it . . ."

"We don't have time. Tsuki and Rhain . . . they could have been arrested or killed, and people will be after us . . ." Kirika found Mireille's shoulder and shoved her gently away. "GO."

"You're going to bleed to death, Kirika--no, not again," insisted Mireille stubbornly and with concern. Then, without thinking, she found Kirika's weak lump of form and hugged it close to her. "I refuse . . . to lose you."

If Mireille lost Kirika, then she'd lose her own life as well.

Kirika gasped to say something, but let the moment take over.

"I heard something!"

There was a little mob of them. Their voices drew closer, as close as their foot steps. Mireille and Kirika heard guns being reloaded and readied. Gold pockets stabbed the cement walls a distance from Noir's location.

"Damn," hissed Mireille as she picked up her gun, even when she knew that she couldn't use it enough to save them in a darkness of hell.

"Mireille, listen to me . . ." Kirika told her. And Mireille did as she was told.

Varrichione's men thought they had heard voices. Blindly and stupidly they rushed in and shot into the darkness.

"There's no one here," stated a man, confused. The firing stopped.

"Shhhh. Be quiet . . ." ordered their leader. He listened silently as the sound of hushed sewer water brushed against the underground cement. The faint sound of traffic above knocked gently. He was only intent on listening to helpless, quiet breathing in a shadowy corner somewhere.

BANG. Bang. Bang!

Darkness took one man at a time until the leader remained. With quaking control he lasered his dim flashlight from whence the gunfire came. Before he could pin the enemy's location, a gun went off; he felt a stinging, breath-taking pain in his liver. As he staggered, grunting, his flashlight cornered down a shadowy tower emerging from the water's lips. His eyes and flashlight last reflected the Japanese on a French's shoulders.

Mireille towered over the corpses, holding the fallen's flashlight, with Kirika perched upon her shoulders. "That went well," said Mireille jubilantly up to the girl on her shoulders, grinning barely.

Kirika smiled faintly. Then, she winced and grunted at the wound in her side, grasping it. Worriedly, Mireille insisted Kirika to climb down until she was clinging to Mireille's black like a baby monkey. What made things worse was the sound of more men. Too much of their gunshots gave them away.

The French smiled, however. "Well, we've escaped darkness before. We can do it again . . ."

After rounding a few corners, they were guided out of the darkness by a sun beam that had escaped through a lid in the ceiling. With Kirika upon her shoulders, Mireille allowed the Japanese girl to check if it was clear. Next, Noir climbed through and managed to make it across the street. Hoping not to attract attention to themselves considering their open wounds, the two slipped into an alley and sat down in the shadows.

Mireille growled and sighed. "Our clothes . . ." She urged her hands to rip off a bit of her shirt, but in the process it disturbed her biceps with pain. Mireille winced, biting her lip, breath shaking.

Kirika stopped her. "My arms are fine, let me do it . . ." She ripped off Mireille's shirt and hers and moments afterwards both their arms and legs were wrapped up. Nothing, still, couldn't stop the pain that pumped like a pained heart.

"We need to relax, move to the country side," sighed Mireille hopelessly, closing her eyes.

"Mireille."

"Hm?"

"What about Tsuki and Rhain?"

Mireille had forgotten about their saviors. She lowered her eyes, and ran her hand through her sweat-matted hair. "I know . . ."

Her mind reflected the accurate gunshots, the professional mid-air someresaults, and the tactical ignitions. And a painbrush with oil of all choices? Mireille could find enlightenment in that. She wouldn't be surprised seeing Kirika using Rhain's strategy. Nothing was as enlightening as seeing such impossible flawlessness. At the same time, though, it was scary.

"My senses were right," proclaimed Kirika, studying her ripped shin bandaged in nothing but crimson fabric. "Fate. It brought them to us--everything makes sense: the encounters, no doubt."

"Fine, I'll accept they were for real, but couldn't Rhain at least lose her attitude?" growled Mireille, flaring her eyes in the opposite direction. "And their . . . movements. I mean, it can't be real . . ."

Her voice trailed off in a phantom-like manner.

"You didn't think Noir was real . . ." reminded Kirika, but Mireille brushed that aside:

"Noir . . . is . . ." struggled the determined blonde. "Noir is just the name of an ancient fate. These two are different. I doubt they're candidates. Where did they come from--and why us? Now that you think of it, their moves were a lot like ours . . ."

"Mireille . . ." Kirika shuffled in alert, "They're here . . ."

Mireille reminded herself of Kirika's bullet-bruised shin and her own torn arm. They knew that if they tried to get out of the alley way, there were chances of getting shot and getting into worse conditions. And Kirika was losing more blood worse than Mireille, quicker. Plus, she was in worse pain. Mireille eyed the wound where Altena's bullet used to be. Reopened wounds--what a horrible metaphor that was so physically true. If they tried climbing up the ladder above them, then that would become a pain for one who couldn't afford placing pressure on her shins to her foot.

"We have to go up!" urged Mireille as she escorted Kirika up the ladder, which she wished she didn't have to do because she knew Kirika was in a lot of pain.

"I found them!"

"Kirika, faster! I can still use my legs to fight--GO!" Mireille gave a mighty shove that sent Kirika up more steps than she had hoped. Then, Mireille jumped off in time and knocked down one of V's men who just ran below them. After landing on top of him, she kicked him in the face and knocked him out.

She held onto her gun, her only reliable source of defense and diversion. Since her torso and legs were in fair condition, Mireille counted on them to stall enough time for Kirika. With those factors calculated, Mireille ducked and kicked mostly. She wanted to make sure she stayed as a diversion to those who haven't seen Kirika silently trying to escape up the ladder.

After knocking out several men who had followed, Mireille was snuck up on from behind. He severely punched her in the arm, sending a vibrating pain through her nerves. Then, he kneed her in the stomach and smacked her down to the ground in the back. He grabbed her gun after she dropped it, and aimed it at her as she rolled onto her back to stare up at the gun aimed down at the center of her face.

Two bullets flew by his head and he stared up. Kirika was nearly at the top but she wouldn't allow seeing Mireille die. She still dangled from the ladder in desperation to save Mireille. He dodged another bullet, then sent some of his o1818wn at her. Glass nearby broke below her and a bullet cut off a string of her hair when it flew over her head.

Mireille grunted, forcing herself. With effort, she tripped her enemy with a stroke of her powerful leg. When he nearly fell on top of her, she grabbed a gun early beforehand and shot him as he came down dead on her. She quickly scrambled out from underneath him. Then, quickly, Mireille stared up to see how Kirika was progressing. Kirika finally made it up there. The Japanese peered over the edge of the building to exchange assured glances with her partner.

"Mireille--"

Kirika was nearly shot from behind. Mireille gave this time no chance to let Kirika fly solo. She lunged toward the ladder, but it was ripped off by bullets from behind. In anger and worried frustration, Mireille whipped around and fired down more of V's guards. Scared that her quickest access to Kirika's safety had been pulled off, Mireille ran to the entrance of the building to see if she could make a faster way up the stairs or through a window.

--

Meanwhile, on top, Kirika dodged luckily as she sat down, avoiding from being shot. As she tried scrambled around like a scared kitten, she fell backwards, hitting the wound in her side from her recent battles. She cried out in agony and whined and trembled as she laid there, letting go of her gun, holding her side. She breathed heavily, panting and shuddering under the heavy burden of tormenting pain.

About seven men approached her.

"Noir . . . is a girl?" one of them questioned aloud, electrified at this unex-pected sight.

"Clever: short hair to steal a man's figure to cover her gender; a petite, benign figure to disguise age; and an innocent personality to only blind," marveled an interested voice of a thug.

Kirika continued wincing and trembling at the pain, holding harder onto her side.

"She's probably only 16 or 17!"

"Who knows, maybe looks can be deceiving. Let's finish her off. She did have a gun and the wounds match the blood we've followed."

"We can't kill her! She's just a girl!"

"But she's THE girl who attempted to assassinate V."

"Yeah. What about her friend down there?"

"She was last spotted within the building . . ." A foot pressed lightly against Kirika's skull, exploring soft spots. "She's rushing to your rescue, but she won't reach you in time. You'll be dead by the time she reaches you. Or how about we go down there and slaughter her?" His voice was aimed at a nearby comrade: "Go and bring her down, live or dead! This girl, on the other hand, is mine . . ."

Foot steps faded as they galloped down what sounded like stairs. If they could go up and down it to reach Kirika or Mireille, she could use it as well to reach Mireille . . .

A foot kicked her in the side. Kirika gasped out heavily, tightening her abs to squeeze out the pain and in her cries. Her arms grew heavy and tight from squeezing their muscles as she was kicked again. She rolled onto her other hip to keep her wound out of the tormentor's reach. But then he smashed his foot upon her shin. Kirika screamed this time, pain jerking everywhere inside her. She needed a weapon . . .

She blinked through the sun, blinded, as she saw a man tower over her with his gun pointed down at her. "What do you have to say, now . . .?"

"Noir . . ." gasped Kirika slowly. The man paused.

"What'd she say?" one of them asked.

Kirika, her back facing her tormentors, secretly clawed at her belt to unbuckle it.

The leader explained, "Shuddap. She's explaining . . ."

Kirika pulled out two of her fingers and symbolized Noir with them. "Noir, two maidens who govern death." She quietly slipped her snake-like belt until it was almost out. ". . . I am one of those maidens."

Finishing her words, Kirika quickly pulled out her belt from her slim, blood-stained jeans. She lashed at three men's faces, marking them with belt marks, slapping them across their hands, torsos, and tender thighs. Their guns were whipped from their possession, clattering to the ground. Kirika reached for them and shot the men down.

The survivor fired at her, yelling, as if that would help.

Like claws, her belt flexed around the wrist that held his gun. The buckle whipped his knuckles, hurting him. She pulled and he stumbled forward, until the head of her gun kissed his stomach. As they stood still in that awkward, close contact of silence, the man stuttered:

". . . YOU . . . Noir--?" he whispered.

Kirika's eyes calmly sank into his like the claws of a silent poison. Gently and nonchalantly, she told him, "Noir is a name for two." She pulled the trigger.

Finally, she buckled her belt back through the hoops of her jeans. She gasped at the pain at her side, and held it firmly, slightly lopsided. Her bleeding leg buckled underneath her, betraying her strength. She slouched forward, breathing heavily.

"Noir, huh?"

Kirika slowly rose her head to stare. There he was. "Grey" Varrichione: V. Two guards were left with him on either side, loading their guns, and they waited for his command. This time, he wore a black pinstripe suit, his blondish hair slicked back. He had his own gun, easily seen bulging in his pocket.

V snapped his fingers. One of his guards held a black furball. She mewed and purred as she was given to V. She stroked her head against his thick hands as he explored her furry back.

"Mireille!" gasped Kirika.

"Actually, her name is Noir," corrected V. He grinned. Kirika stared. "She was mine to begin with. She was only the snare that would lead you to me. I knew, one day, that Noir would be sent after me. And I knew that once I got rid of Noir, Noir would no longer exist. But, I always admired the usage in Noir the Soldats had on it. So, in honor of your upcoming death, I named this cat after you, just to carry on the name."

"Noir is neither our names," snapped Kirika in a cry-like tone. "Noir is just a name. Not anyone's."

--

Mireille made it to the second to last floor. From there, five more of V's guards fired at her. She took cover around a corner, reloading, looking, dodging, and shooting. She did this repetively that she thought she would get it stuck in her head like a song. She reloaded one last time before taking down three of her foes. Then she retreated back behind her cover wall and reloaded.

She remembered why she found life worth living.

A bullet chipped off a piece of marble from the wall she hid behind. She jumped out from her cover and shot and then retreated.

She was alive because of Kirika. She was also happy because of Kirika.

Mireille jumped out and fired. Her enemy fired. She fell, grunting at the pain.

The guards walked over slowly, their guns ready. They towered over her as she struggled to get up, but the pain her biceps restrained her. One of the guards kicked her in the stomach, to which she grunted again in agony.

"Heh, weak," said one of them as he aimed his gun at her.

She whipped her sweaty bandages from her arm wound around her enemies' wrists. When she had fallen, she hid them in under her so they couldn't see. The blood was hers, but only from her bicep wound. As cued, she pulled hard; the guns fell from their grasp, she stood up, caught the guns, let go of her bandages, and fired.

When the men fell dead, Mireille stole their guns, which were a lot better. After checking their pulses, she stood up. Then she heard gun shots. She took to action as she raced up the last staircase to the balcony.

--

When she bust the door down that opened up to the balcony, she ran and soared in front Kirika, both her guns firing insanely at V and his men. They had shot at Kirika in correspondence with Mireille when she pulled her triggers: she shot both of V's last guards. Their bullets flew past Kirika, while the last one shot Mireille in the region of tendons between her collarbone and heart. All four: Mireille, the cat, and V's last defense of henchmen fell.

"MIREILLE!" It was a quick, salty blur of events. She saw Mireille's body tremble when it struggled to fight off the bullet, but the Corsican fell, and remained still.

"Now that I've taken your partner's life, I shall take yours! And then I will claim the title of the True Noir--the new Noir that has conquered the old!" Insanely, V fired his own bullet at Kirika. Kirika, with no gun to react, and since she could not budge her legs even if she had time, stood there. She turned her head away from the bullet, ready for death to take her away as it did to Mireille, Mireille's family, Kirika's victims, and even the innocent . . .

When she opened her eyes, she realized Mireille's arms were wrapped around her. It was a nice, comforting, and reassuring embrace.

The blonde looked up to the sunny sky, and whispered, "Three seconds . . . I never knew a hug would be so great in three seconds . . ."

Mirelle collapsed.

_No . . ._

Two consecutive bullets took the Corsican, for Kirika's sake. The Japanese stared with disbelief, catching the limp body in her struggling arms--the body of Mireille, the daughter of Odette Bouquet, the one to whom Kirika promised to protect, to be her strength . . .

_No . . ._

Why was it always her who survived? Her to survive _alone_?

As a tear fell, Kirika felt dizzy. A wave of angry heat dominated her conscious sanity. Her eyes thinned into an evil glare. The air whined with a madwoman's screams of hellish torture.

_No . . ._

At that same moment when she shot him, he shot her too in a spot above the wound Altena had inflicted. Kirika collapsed backwards onto her back, her head fell lightly to one side. She saw Mireille, but the blonde's face was hidden by her messy locks.

_No . . ._

Kirika tried budging her hands, even her fingers if she could, to grab Mireille's hands, but darkness stole her first like it had in the past years.

Grey Varrichione survived the shot he received in his side. But Tsuki and Rhain flipped in sideways, guns aimed at him as they did a handstand with one hand only--he was dead before they finished landing upright.


	6. Stillness of Dawn

Chapter 6: Stillness of Dawn

_Why was it always her who survived? Her to survive alone? In guilt . . .?_

It was warm.

It was so very warm. A blossoming light; an exploring caress; the feathery flame of the emotion, love. Something brushed against her, tickling barely. Her hair rustled like whispers of a forgotten entity. So warm, so relaxing, so full of emotion, she wanted to sing . . .

_Mireille!?_

Kirika glanced around in panic and confusion.

Her bed was empty. Not even a bruise in the matress indicated that someone once laid there; the bed was only warm because of her body alone. Kirika looked around the apartment. It was quiet, that it hurt. The song of stillness and loneliness. Instantly, Kirika knew she was alive, that this was real--but the fact that it felt real meant Mireille really was gone.

Kirika whimpered, squealing in agony into her knees draped by the cover, her screams instantly muffled.

The sacrifice . . . two consecutive bullets . . . dying . . . V's relentless laughter . . . the tears and the bullet in her soul . . . darkness's soundless, oblivious cradle.

_Mireille . . . you never deserved to die. I did. But now I'm alone, because you died for me._

Kirika looked at her wounds. She felt the bandages that covered the bullet wounds; one near her heart, at her side, and in her shin. Bandages, bandages, bandages . . . so many . . . As if these were enough scars.

"KIRIKA!"

_Mireille?_

"Kirika!"

_I'm here, Mireille! But I can't speak! I'm crying so much--it hurts, I'm alone . . ._

"Kirika, please!"

_Mireille . . . I can't reply. You're . . . not here . . . nor am I . . ._

"KIRIKA!"

_Why can't this be a dream?_

There was crying. Then, Kirika realized it was only her. _Alone_.

_Kirika . . .?_

The voice faded, almost a moaning phantom.

_I'm sorry, Mireille . . . that I couldn't protect you . . ._

A fading moan escaped. Then, an explosion.

Then, Kirika found herself stumbling out of bed toward the couch. Against the wall, a small table was in pieces. And on the couch, Mireille drew back her arm from the table she threw.

Kirika was speechless, tears falling again. Mireille looked, tears in her eyes, too.

"I thought I . . ." gasped Mireille, her voice shaking as she stared at Kirika.

Kirika found herself collapsing onto Mireille's lap, and in automatic response Mireille laid her hands on the Japanese's head. "I thought I saved you . . ." she gasped.

"I thought I lost you . . ." whimpered Kirika, her voice muffled in Mireille's lap. She stared up, wanting to glare in anger, but relief. Her tears, however, hazed out the anger in her eyes as Mireille looked into them. They stared for so long, tears falling, but no sound tumbled from their lips.

It was quiet, besides Kirika's every now and then sniffle. The stubborn, dignified woman she was, the Corsican heiress refused to cry, but decided tears were good enough. However, she felt her heart beating so fast it could burst with pleasure, sadness, sorrow, pain, but joy altogether. This sickening feeling of pleasure, it felt like she was dying.

Mireille found herself smiling, despite the tears, never letting go. Kirika made sure she didn't; her own brunette head remained planted into Mireille's lap.

From there, it was quiet, but that was better than gunshots or crying. The silent affection that took over dragged them into a drowsy state. All that crying made them weary, but that didn't stop Kirika's head from leaving Mireille's lap; Mireille's fingers remained tangled in Kirika's mop of hair. Then, Kirika realized Mireille fell asleep. She didn't want to move to disturb the blonde's rest, but looked up at her, seeing the tears drying where they were left.

Sooner or later they had to return to the schedule of living. Kirika returned to the daily routines soundlessly, looking back at Mireille every now and then to make sure her face remained peaceful and beautiful. The Japanese made breakfast, quietly pouring a cup of tea, and preparing morning biscuits with bread and cheese.

Then, something caught her attention. Kirika caught a glimpse of a sticky note on the wall where the teapot was. She instantly recognized the sticky note, yet, no oiled Japanese dialect was there. It was just a plain note. She ripped it off the wall and read it slowly.

_Enjoy it while you can, then meet us at the Linden's Hotel pool at 4:00 p.m._

_Today would be a good oppertunity . . . for many things._

_Yours truly,_

_Tsuki and Rhain._

Kirika revisited the whole letter from begining to end to catch any missed details. Then, her eyes remained glued to the last sentence. Today would be a good opportunity . . . ? What did that mean?

Darkness-free, she rested her chin on her knuckles and leaned against the counter in ponder. Then it hit her like a bullet: they knew. But how, and more importantly, why did they bother? Even more, why did they try to . . . help? The questions burned murderously; it was all that irked Kirika at the moment.

She also realized that Tsuki and Rhain were the ones who saved them from death. Her attention returned to her wounds: she mused in wonder over the lack of pain. She wondered how many days they've been unconscious, if they've been operated, how Tsuki and Rhain managed without questions striking from the hospital's staff . . . Kirika was intent on checking for any stitches, but decided to leave it, because her mind returned to mainly Tsuki and Rhain:

_They weren't normal. They were human . . . but they weren't normal. They were like Mireille and I . . . Then, how?_

Kirika heard stirring from the sofa. She peeked around the corner of the kitchen to check on Mireille. The Japanese rushed back to the tray and walked calmly to Mireille. At eye contact, Mireille was surprised and relieved at the sight of Kirika walking healthily towards her. She was also surprised at the sight of breakfast being served. She beamed as Kirika approached her.

Happily speechless, Kirika settled the tray in Mireille's lap after she sat up. She watched the blonde slowly eat, her eyes glowing with a yearning to reach out and hug the one most precious to her.

Mireille swallowed and smiled at Kirika pleasantly. "It's good."

Kirika did more than smile, but beamed, which lifted Mireille's heart.

However, after a few minutes passed, Mireille paused from her breakfast, and looked over the wall towards the window. Her eyes seemed to sigh as she stared in wonder.

Kirika joined her, staring out to the window.

Mireille's blue orb-like eyes turned from Kirika to what she thought she saw in Kirika's hands. "What's that?"

"A note."

"From whom?"

"Them."

Kirika handed her their friends' note. After the blonde scanned it, she dropped it and remained silent, looking at her breakfast. Kirika didn't mind; she returned her gaze back to the window at the world of Paris.

"Do you know what they were refering to?"

"I don't know."

"Are you hiding something from me? They know, you know."

"Are _you_ hiding something from me?" echoed Kirika sternly.

Mireille silenced. She gave a hint of a smile. She murmured, "I don't know. Maybe I am."

Silence again. It was getting stupid, plus tedious.

The Paris scent, the harp of morning called them. For once, it felt so real.

Kirika suddenly remembered something. "Mireille!?" she gasped.

"Hm?--oh, that Mireille."

Her voice sounded a little shaken with dismay. Kirika turned to her. "I'm sorry--it's just that, I just realized I lost something you got me, though she wasn't really mine in the first place . . ."

"Hm?"

"She was Varrichione's cat the entire time, trained to lure us--me--into their trap . . ."

Mireille's eyes twisted into a murderous glare, _"He will . . ."_

"I'm sorry, Mireille," whimpered Kirika.

"It's okay--ah!" Mireille jumped out of bed, flipping the covers off.

Kirika glanced her away, almost alarmed.

"Something--" Mireille's eyes aimed at the covers of their bed.

Something stirred inside. Then, it flowed to its exit and out popped the little head of the cat. She mewed, then cautiously flickered her head this way and that.

Kirika scooped her up and squeezed her gently. "You're both safe. I'm glad."

Mireille just smiled and shook her head in the playful way. "I never thought I'd be alive to hear you say you are happy. You actually look like you are."

Kirika smiled. Mireille grew fond of that smile each time and it came to its ultimate level. Mireille smiled back and told her, "You look different when you smile. So new . . ."

Kirika nodded, smiling, for Mireille's and her own sake. "I'll keep that in mind."

Silence again, except for the Paris music outside, and the cat's purring as Kirika stroked her back. Then, the two maidens slid into eye contact, the warmth of their irises battling, searching for something beyond the color, beyond the smiles, facial expressions, and symbolic actions. However, the feeling of battling for search of secrets seemed to disappear, and the eyes rather smiled gently, stepping toward each other as if to simply say hello, and seemed to long to embrace the other.

Ever since their work bound them together, Mireille had not gotten used to Kirika's movements, voice, eyes, and blank-out moments. But now, when she looked into death's eyes, they were gentle and craving to be loved, to be understood. Mireille had always feared that if she stared too long in Kirika's eyes, those eyes of darkness would drown her in its stare. Today, she craved to be lost in those pools of a hidden depth of passion and serenity.

The French unlocked their stare. She looked at her bicep, then felt around where she was shot two times. "Did it occur to you . . .?"

Kirika nodded. After a while of lingering into the past two days, Kirika blinked, looking up at the pondering Mireille--at someone who was still alive, for her.

Kirika hung her head and glued her eyes to the floor. "Why did you do it?"

Mireille knew exactly what her friend meant. She stared hard with an expression Kirika couldn't read. "That's payback for the time against Altena."

"So . . .?" Kirika knew Mireille saved her out of love, but she wanted to _hear_ it.

Mireille chuckled. "I would have killed you a long time ago."

That was enough of an answer. Kirika smiled and hugged her cat tighter.

"Speaking of time, what time is it?"

Kirika glanced over her shoulders at the clock on the wall. "Almost time to go."

"Huh?!" Mireille shot a glance past Kirika at the clock. "We've been unconscious for THAT long?"

"We were badly injured."

Mireille stood up. "I've got questions for them . . ."

Not before long, they got two chairs, their swimming suits, flip flops, towels, and extra clothes ready. They stuffed the towels and extra clothes into a beach bag, while Mireille retrieved her purse with her cellphone, money, and guns inside.

"Let's go," said Mireille with a final sigh.

"Why . . . guns?" asked Kirika, staring alarmingly as the blonde slipped the weapons inside her pink purse.

Mireille paused, reconsidering. "You're forgetting the moneybag Grey Varrichione was. His allies will soon realize his absence in their line of business."

"I have a feeling . . . we don't need to worry. We have Tsuki and Rhain."

"Hmph," snorted Mireille. "They barely made it in time to even save us."

"But they saved us."

"Huh, I wouldn't call them pros."

Kirika brushed the topic aside. "I have a feeling that we won't return in a while. I'm going to feed Mireille."

She got out the cat food and poured some into Mireille's new bowl. From there, the cat peacefully nipped away at dinner. The girls closed the door and left.

--

The clouds shifted and glided across the blurry field of fire, while the hot disc was smothered into the chest of the public pool. Its reflection trembled in the chlorine waters, colors dancing.

Tsuki and Rhain waited patiently. When Kirika and Mireille approached them, they were dazzled by the glints of orange-red in their eyes, and the crimson lining that crusted their authorative forms. Behind them, the surrounding vegetation and blue water burned with a beckoning glow speaking inaudible to Noir.

The passing Paris noises were muted out. Mireille folded her arms, annoyed by this usual silence, staring as patiently as she could. Kirika stared blankly with no emotion, while Tsuki gave a quick smile at the sight of her new friends alive and well. At the usual, she frowned when Mireille and Rhain traded grouchy glares.

"You're welcome," muttered Rhain.

Mireille and Kirika exchanged silent, quick glances with each other.

Mireille shot a quick glare at Rhain. "Tell me."

Tsuki sighed. "The same thing you said when you first met Kirika, lacking trust. Now, with us. You don't trust us, after what we've put our rears through to do for you."

"You've been planning this from the way beginning, haven't you?" accused Mireille with a hot glower. "You knew us from a long time ago. Start talking."

"Drop the attitude, Mireille, we know how fluffy you really are," revealed Rhain.

Tsuki laughed. She stared at Mireille. "Yes, we've known you for a while, from the beginning when you first met Kirika. Maybe a bit before you even met Kirika."

Something clicked. The sound of a prologue. Alarmed, Mireille drew out her gun and aimed it right at her so-called saviors.

"You're the _Soldats_!?"

Hearing this, Kirika remained frozen in confusion, staring from Mireille back to the "Soldats". Tsuki and Rhain exchanged glances: Rhain growled like a stubborn dog, placing a hand on her hip, while Tsuki sighed.

The Asian frowned. "Well, yes. And no--"

"It explains why you've been toying with our emotions," added Kirika in a quiet, but attentive tone. "The same way Altena played with our lives."

"Well, it certaintly will not work this time," growled Mireille.

"I'm gonna smack you!" exploded Rhain. She pointed at herself with her thumb: "We saved your sorry locks of blonde twice! From V's men, and the freak himself!"

"You didn't exactly save us in time from V himself!" reprimanded Mireille.

"Ooh, you really want to get hurt, don't you?" roared Rhain. "Maybe I should have _helped_ him!"

"I assure you," Tsuki broke in, "we are not the Soldats, not the true Soldats, ones that tried sanctioning you. We tried saving you, not kill you."

"When you say that, what exactly do you mean by that?" asked Mireille, keeping aim on them with her gun. "There are rivalries between different factions within your organization. How do I know you're not the competitive ones only using us for your own intentions?"

"Our intentions are rogue to the prominent ideal, but they are only ours, Rhain and mine," explained Tsuki calmly, with a light smile. "Our intentions are yours."

"And the note?" blurted Kirika.

Rhain whirled around, her wavy locks pouting at the hot-headed Mireille. "Huhm, maybe we won't tell you, ungrateful b--."

"Rhain, I'm going to slap you, and this time I will kill you," snapped Tsuki flatly. Though guns were aimed at her, she smiled brightly. "Now, shall we swim, or dine?"

"Should I add poison to so-and-so's drink in courtesy to their warm aura?" requested Rhain sarcastically.

"Swimming sounds nice," interrupted Kirika.

Mireille hated when Kirika did that. Instead of "would you like some tea?", or "would you like some popcorn?" it just had to come to "would you like to swim?". Kirika gave in too easily. Mireille was reluctant to swim off her guard.

"Kirika . . .?" mumbled Mireille, as the Japanese took off her clothes, revealing the blue bathing suit Mireille just bought her.

"There's no danger, so why act like there is? They're harmless." Just like that, Kirika waded into the pool with Rhain, who actually raced in excitedly with her fists shaking in the air ("Woohooooo, yaaaaaaa, go-go-GO!").

Tsuki, on the other hand, waited for Mireille. She stood there in a red-and-white Hawaiin-taste suit. "C'mon, they say water cleanses you."

Mireille made a small noise as she stripped off her clothes, the decent warmth of sunlight meeting her creamy-white skin.

Tsuki grimaced. "Stiil don't trust us, huh?"

"I never did trust you," emphasized Mireille in retort as she stretched out the beach chairs and settled her bag and purse down.

"C'MON, we're not gonna drown you or anything. Why'd you act as if you trusted us at the fair and against V?"

"Trusting allies in a battle is one thing. In times like this, it's another thing. When we fought off V's men, your skills were useful to protect Kirika, who was in worse conditions than I was."

"So, you only trust Kirika? It took you this long to finally trust her and accept her as a friend--but you can't accept us as your new friends?"

"Kirika has been experiencing so much hell that no other human has. You guys already had your peace from the moment you were born, she didn't. I have sympathy and love for her, not for the two of you."

"Harsh," noted Tsuki in a murmur. She shook her head, but smiled. Mireille never understood Tsuki and Rhane's emotions and personalities. She examined Tsuki's first. Tsuki switched gears so quickly, continuing. "Well, I can't argue against the fact that you love Kirika--the same way Rhain and I do. I'll take the topic off of me. About Kirika . . ." Mireille stared sharply at Tsuki. ". . . When are you going to tell her?"

"It's none of your business. Buying her ice-cream, a cat, going to the fair, and saving her says it all. It's enough." Mireille snapped, "It's called symbolic action--look it up in religion."

"Well, we Soldats do know everything," said Tsuki with a wink.

Mireille glared off into the distance.

"Explain to me about those black hands." Mireille's eyes thinned as she stared at Tsuki's hands.

"Our pasts are a secret as much as yours is. And as much as you wish to keep your pasts within the shadows, so do we. You can relate, I'm sure . . ." Tsuki stared at her ordinary hands that seem to hold more than they shed.

"Fine, I'll respect your secret. But, is there anything secretive about the Soldats that you could kindly tell me?"

Tsuki laughed. "You never quit, you reckless Bouquet! To be honest with you, I hold no information of the Soldats--like I said, Rhain and I left all of that behind. We're ex-Soldats, though that seems highly impossible."

Mireille burst, "Heh, there's no way to escape the Soldats--"

"I know, 'once the Soldats sink their roots into your soul, you can never escape'."

Mireille was iced by those similar words her uncle said before she killed him in exchange for Kirika's survival.

Not helping herself, Mireille closed her eyes in frustration and gave out another wheeze of anger. Then, she sighed. She laid on her beach chair against her back and hid behind her sunglasses.

"Hiding again?" teased Tuski, then dashed away to join Rhain and Kirika.

Minutes passed. The feeling of warmth sunk into Mireille's skin. She loved it. However, it was beginning to get cool. Mireille opened her eyes to check if the sun was beginning to set. Before she could lift her sunglasses off her eyes, her stomach lurched and her heart seemed to have stopped functioning the moment she fell. Water washed over her, a chlorine kiss, unpleasantly cold and greedy.

After her plunge, she shivered, bursting out in cold surprise, and smoothed her slimey-wet hair from her face. Mireille looked up: Tsuki and Rhain laughed and pointed at her beach chair.

Rhain pointed: "DUMPED! YOU GOT DUMPED! Ahahaha, no boyfriends for you!"

Tsuki laughed at Rhain's retarded "burn": "Rhain, you're just as worse . . ." Both couldn't contain themselves as they laughed, rolling back their heads or leaning forward clutching their stomachs with triumphant entertainment.

How they were able to pick up her chair and hover it over the pool was beyond her. Immediately, Mireille was embarrassed, humiliated, flustered that she'd been bucked off her guard despite how harmless the prank was.

Mireille began to growl in rage. Then, an unfamiliar song sliced her temper: Kirika was laughing.

Not smiling, not chuckling, not lightly giggling. _Laughing_. She was surely not laughing at Mireille, but with Tsuki and Rhain.

Mireille couldn't help it. Hearing Kirika's laughter triggered her heart into a fuzzy, irking flutter; her stomach flipped unpleasantly and excitedly in synchronization, and her feelings soared. Mireille laughed along, laughed pathetically at herself as she got up. She never felt so happy. This naiveness returning lured out the little, unaware girl locked inside her from those many dark years. She really missed this feeling of happy pain in her knotting stomach as she tried to retain her laughter; the shuddering shoulders, her quaking body, the sound of happiness bouncing out of her mouth. Never had she laughed this long. It was a long, absent feeling she had missed, so similar to love.

From then on, all four girls spent their afternoon at the beach. Mireille, Tsuki, and Rhain re-taught Kirika how to play volleyball. After minutes of volleyball lessons, Kirika and Mireille won against Tsuki and Rhain--in all honesty, Rhain sucked at volleyball, and Tsuki was struggling to win for them all by herself without Rhain's efforts.

At one point during their match, a couple of men approached them. One of them pointed at them, saying, "Check out the honeys!"

"HONEY?" growled Rhain, turning her hand into a fist. "No one calls me chick, honey, chica, cutie, sweetie, or lay filthy eyes on me . . .!" Her eyes were aimed at the approaching, unaware men ranting amongst themselves.

"Should I shoot them?" insisted Mireille.

"There really is no need for that," asid Tsuki, grinning as she gestured Mireille to forget it. She stared sideways at Rhain. "Well, whaddya think, sis? Ya think they're hot, or what?"

"Sure . . ." Rhain closed off the topic as she walked up to greet the hotties before they could say anything. Surprised, but pleased, they accepted her approach2626, as she pressed against one tanned guy's bare, gleaming chest. As he delightfully reached for her behind, Rhain stuck her foot out, pushed him easily backwards, and he tripped over her foot. He fell.

"Hey, what the hel--?" burst his companions.

"NO," said Mireille when she saw Tsuki sneak out her cigarette lighter. Tsuki gave a small pout.

The males left, looking at Rhain and Tsuki weird.

Tsuki and Rhain grinned and high-fived each other. Mireille and Kirika looked at them weirdly, hoping no one saw that somewhat illegal threat/prank.

"Why'd you do that?" murmured Kirika.

Mireille gave an observant glance after the men. "They were pretty cute, too."

Rhain turned to them. "No way we're letting cute faces ruin this night. It's friend-quality night, so bear with it and ignore every cute guy you see . . ."

"Well, they were pretty cute, now that I think about it," deplored Tsuki with a pondering expression. Rhain looked at her in agreement, but frowned it aside and shrugged, grinning.

Mireille and Kirika exchanged glances.

Rhain put fists on her hips. "WHAT, you too MATURE for some fun?" She stuck out her tongue.

Tsuki laughed at the speechless Noir.

--

The setting sun was a mark of another renewed light. The coolness whipping against their bare skin told them enough that dusk was approaching.

Mireille stared at Kirika. "Bored, huh?"

Kirika shook her head, bringing Mireille back to the first time when she had given Kirika a tour of Paris as the initiated "Noir".

They were sitting on the beach chairs Noir had brought. Mireille looked at the sunset. They watched its glow fading into darkness as it crumbled behind the trees that blocked their view of its descent. Mireille couldn't help but dig out the new soul-like glow in Kirika's eyes that reflected another promise.

"Say, how 'bout we take a stroll to and along the river?" suggested Mireille.

Kirika just remembered they were near the same river she met Milosh; her face lit up at this reopened wound-like feeling rising in her throat, yet she was excited to revisit some memories. Memories that sometimes needed to be visited.

"Which we?" asked Rhain asked. Mireille gave a puzzled look. "Remember, you never wanted a 'Rhain and Tsuki' in 'we'. So, do you mean all of us altogether or just you and Kirika?"

Mireille smiled. After getting to know what the sisters were like, she now found her full trust in them. There was, after all, never a time when Noir had Soldats or even "ex-Soldats" joining them on a regular basis. They were normal girls, just like Mireille and Kirika. They wanted to have fun, wanted something normal, yet precious.

Mireille announced softly, "Together."

So, they walked in a straight row of four "normal" friends admiring paradise. For once, Mireille and Kirika didn't feel like they were being watched, nor followed. The only thing that followed them were their own shadows, and the fading smile of the disappearing sun. The wind pushed against them gently as they walked on, departing farther and farther from the borders of humanity.

Getting vexed by such boring silence, Mireille asked the sisters as politely as she could: "So, where do you live?"

Their reaction: silence. Mireille repeated herself to see if they had heard or were only ignoring her. They turned their heads, but didn't answer.

Mireille snorted. "It's not as if I'm going to use the info to track you down and murder you in your beds. At least not Tsuki." ("Hey! Bully!" roared Rhain). It was supposed to be a jest but nobody was smiling or chuckling. Rhain was fuming quietly.

"Sorry, blanked out," said Tsuki. That was some excuse.

Mireille was getting frustrated now, but she mantained her sanity and fury. She gave up.

Kirika turned to Tsuki, asking something in Japanese.

"So, answer her but not me?" growled Mireille.

"Huh? Did you say something?" asked Rhain.

"What did you ask her anyway?" Mireille asked Kirika, trying to block Rhain physically from her sphere of rage.

"They are sixteen years old," said Kirika. "I'm assuming they're a year younger than me . . ."

"Oh--WHAT!?" bellowed Mireille, whipping her head toward Tsuki and Rhain. "You're only in high school?"

Tsuki and Rhain fiddled with their fingers, smiling with guilt.

"You're skipping school?"

"We're ex-Soldats, _baka_," repelled Rhain.

"And consider us being home-schooled, or once, by the Soldats," added Tsuki.

"BIG. WHUP!" burst Rhain. "There are rather more imporant things out here to consider than our current age! Plus, if we were in school, you'd be dead by now because of Varrichione."

"Anything else?" growled Mireille.

"Oh yeah," said Tsuki with a weak smile, "we were your clients!"

Mireille's eyes twisted into a half-confused, half-bewildered expression. "YOU were the clients? Our clients--THE clients that assigned us to kill V?"

Tuski and Rhain nodded in unison.

Kirika's widened slightly, but she allowed Mireille to represent her emotional reactions.

Rhain glared into Mireille's face. "You, my beloved friend, need a few anti-depressants. And a RIFLE, maybe . . ."

Kirika told Mireille to let it go with a quiet, "Mireille . . ."

"Remember, we're your friends," stated Tsuki monotonously, crossing her arms.

Tsuki ended the subject just like that, and silence ensued. After a while, they reached the river where they'd been attacked by Varrichione, and where Kirika first fell in love, whatever that was: a song of happiness, then suddenly sadness. Despair. Loneliness. Darkness. Remorse. Pain. Any nibbling name.

Tucked or enfolded by their sweaters, they glanced into the still, cool river. They were barely able to see their own reflections, but the stars and half-moon was visible enough. They stared for a while in a sleepy silence.

"If you don't go to school, then what is your daily bread?" Kirika finally spoke.

"Consider it pretty much like your job as Noir," explained Tsuki in a hushed tone. "Except, more like deliverance for the innocent being targeted . . ." She had everyone stop so she could pay Mireille and Kirika for defeating V.

"But, we didn't kill him. You did," corrected Kirika corrected in somber confusion. She pushed the money back into Tsuki's palm. "You need it more than we do. Besides, we're paid for killing--"

"Hey!" Tsuki snapped her fingers. "Maybe you could join us. A new living, even happier."

_"'You know I kill for a living . . .'"_ reiterated Mireile. Noir remembered Mireille saying that when Kirika had begged her to help find out who Kirika was, also to find out who killed Mireille's family. But that had been unveiled.

"Noir is a name for two. And that's final," rebuked Mireille. Kirika was actually surprised that Mireille was refusing such an opportunity to free themselves from their killing habits.

"But Mireille." Kirika then recited the Noir poem: "_'Their black hands protect.'_ Their black hands protect. The recital ends like that. Maybe, we can match our living with those words. Regardless of our black hands, they protect. We can protect people and--"

"It's a living, okay? I can't help people. Kirika."

"But Mireille," complained Kirika, "do this for atonement. Protect, not kill."

Tsuki and Rhain intervened before the emotional matter took place. Tsuki said, "Forget Noir. Forget humanity. Forget reality. Tonight, you dream. We'll go dine out--it's on us."

"But we didn't bring any food," said Kirika.

"But we did!" shouted Tsuki and Rhain in chorus.

It didn't take long for Tsuki and Rhain to dash back to the public pool to retrieve the party's personal belongings. They also brought along a picnic basket and blanket Noir didn't recall seeing. Next, Tsuki spread the table cloth over a flat area along the river, while Rhain took out the food.

"That's a lot," mused Mireille.

Rhain even pried out candles, lighting them with Tsuki's cigarette lighter, and setting them upright on top of small plates a few feet within their picnic perimeter.

"We brought lots of stuff because we weren't certain what you liked to eat," hesitated Rhain with a weak smile. "So, we bought potato chips, salad, tuna sand-wich, peanut butter, jelly, fluffernutter, juice, fruits, , milk, water bottles, cheese, bread, steak, pepperoni--"

"My favorite!" indicated Tsuki in a burst of joy.

". . . Lamb, turkey, salomi, ketchup, mustard, maynard, chicken, soup--"

"Chicken must die," grumbled Tsuki with a disgusted expression.

". . . Celery, carrots, turnips, onions, a bowl of pasta, cake, ice-cream--"

"You can stop now," insisted Mireille. "Wine, cheese, and bread would have been just fine."

For the rest of the night before total darkness wrapped a coldness in the air, Noir and the sisters ate delightfully. Worry-free, Noir watched pleasantly as the teenagers played "Duck-Duck-Goose", although Noir didn't join. Watching the sisters made Mireille wonder what she and Kirika would have been as teenagers if they hadn't become Noir.

The sisters stupidly kept tagging each other in the heat of the game. At one point, Rhain pushed Tsuki into the river accidentally when she only meant to lurch out and "tag" her sister. At another point, Tsuki almost lit Rhain's sweater on fire from the candles when she "tagged" her. It was strangely entertaining for Noir despite the scary moments that sent their hearts beating. Watching their new friends made it hard for Noir to believe that normal people were like this, not to mention "normal" teenagers just near their age, especially Kirika's.

At a climax of their "exciting" Duck-Duck-Goose, the sisters wanted Noir to join. Mireille once said, "I might accidentally shoot Rhain", so Rhain already strictly forbade the blonde from joining. Tsuki, Rhain, and Kirika altogether played "flashlight tag" though Kirika won most of the time considering her skills and lack of usage of a gun.

All Noir could do was smile.


	7. Your Life

Chapter 7: Your Life

"How long do you plan to keep us here? What do you want from us?" queried Mireille.

"It's not what we want," stated Tsuki wisely as if she was some sage.

Mireille shook her head with a small smile. "How could you be helping us, you ex-Soldats? You speak like adults . . . which is beyond me."

"Kirika's like that too, you know," retorted Rhain retorted as she finished up celery. "She talks in an adult way too, if you haven't noticed."

"Nobody talks like that anymore, you know?" marveled Mireille. She threw the paper plate and silverware into the plastic bag. From there, she slipped her red sweater on to shield herself from the cold. As she hugged herself, she looked at the sisters. Her eyes reflected the blare of their dim candles:

"Those candles aren't doing any good . . ." she began.

"Well, _excuseeee_ me," blurted Rhain. She then turned her head to Tsuki.

Tsuki echoed, "EXCUSEEEE me--Rhain, you numbnut."

Mireille couldn't help but stare.

"Well, like your staring's going to help us with the candles," snapped Rhain when she noticed Mireille's expression. "You could have done better than just sweaters. Tch! Can't believe you were relying on just Tsuki and I to do all the hard work."

"You're asking for it, aren't ya?" growled Mireille. "Your insults aren't doing us any good, either."

"Well, maybe, next time you should have brought a blanket! You call yourself an adult!"

"You could have brought wood or an oil lamp for all I care!"

"Maybe I will, and accidentally burn you!"

Tsuki ignored them. She dashed to break some branches and twigs from the nearest tree, then returned ("Is that a good idea?" asked Kirika). She piled them right next to the river in case the fire got out of control, so they could use the river for reinforcements. Kirika was the only one paying attention to Tsuki's solution while the two blondes argued ridiculously. By the time Tsuki lit the new campfire with her cigarette lighter, Mireille and Rhain finally stopped.

"About time," muttered Tsuki, rolling her eyes. "We're not getting anywhere doing this, RHAIN."

As warmth began to vibrate in the air, heating their bodies, there was an awkard silence. As Tsuki and Rhain chattered amongst themselves, Mireille stared sideways at Kirika. Kirika was too focused on hugging herself to warmth to notice. Not even her own sweater and the fire worked. Tonight seemed to be going tough on them with its cool breath. For some reason, the French felt hesitant.

Mireille hugged hereself to get warm. As the fire began to die, she glared at the sisters hoping they'd renew it, but they only flickered a glance her way for a split second, then returned to their own isolated ranting: something about an argument with a baker. Not being able to take this, Mireille burst:

"Start talking. I know you're ex-Soldats, but _who_ are you?" she demanded.

"Someone's forgotten her manners," responded Rhain flatly.

Mireille didn't have time for this. "Not even close to as worse as yours."

Tsuki exhaled, her breath visible in a silvery mist as the night stole it away like a phantom. "Mireille Bouquet . . . heh, the Soldats said you'd end up like your father. But not even close . . . even Altena knew that. How creepy . . ."

"You even know my last name. Heh, I should have expected that from you Soldats, ex or not," chuckled Mireille casually.

"Hello, we're technically your guardians," piped Rhain.

"I'm only going to ask one last time: Why are you here? Of all times and places, of all 'targets'. Why us? Why you two--what are you trying to do with us? All you've done was assign us a target, then saved us from our own contract, and took us out to dine . . . What's with all of this?"

"Stop throwing any further questions about us. It is all about just you and Kirika, now . . ." Tsuki and Rhain's eyes moved back to Kirika. Mireille followed their gaze mechanically, her mind suddenly switching only to Kirika's condition.

"Kirika?"

"Hm?"

Mireille could tell the Japanese was trying to restrain the fact that she was cold.

"Need my sweater?"

"No. I have one already."

Tsuki said, "Oh, please. _C'mon_, Mireille . . ."

"Noir is the name for two. Everyone knows that Noir is powerful because there's two of you, but they don't know why you're poweful: it's because of your love for each other. That's what makes you Noir, but a Noir far beyond what the Soldats, what Altena, had expected. You and Mireille, Kirika." Rhain whispered for the Japanese girl to hear: "Kirika. It is a time for everything."

Mireille was jumped aback by this strange topic. The more it dawned on her, the more awkward and confused she felt. It tossed her around, making her wonder why this was necessary, why it was worth wasting one's time on.

Mireille stared. Her eyes lacked suspicion, hatred, frustration, curiosity, or any other emotion. She just stared. For one, her eyes were illegible. "You . . . were ex-Soldats opposing Le Grand Retour. However, there's a new ideal for your faction, isn't there? And it has to do with the black thread between Kirika and I . . ."

Kirika finally whispered, "Are you trying . . . to do something to us?"

"Why bend the bond between two powerful assassins of mercy when we could just mend it even better?" whispered Tsuki, smiling. "Think logically. Noir is the bond representing humanity . . ."

Tsuki noted, "Philosophically, Noir was the bond representing humanity, yet the Soldats seemed to try to kill them. The trials were harsh, but guess what? Humans have to go through so much to find the true meaning of life as well as in their relationship with others. Noir is a bond representing lovers, sisters, brothers, and friends. Some Soldat factions wished to use this bond so its devotion to each other would keep them alive, just for the Soldats' interests. Some Soldats hoped such a bond would end up being the formula to its own demise, by making Noir candidates fight against each other after all those years of bonding them--to prove that love could kill. However, there are some Soldats--Rhain and I--who view Noir under religious terms: we want to nurture Noir, strengthen it, so that its bond is so great. So great, it will prove to all of humanity that it cannot be broken, that it is the greatest bond ever. And no one could stop it. Anyone who did, suffered."

Tsuki and Rhain shared smiles with each other. Noir stared, speechless, but Mireille blinked and lookd into Tsuki's eyes.

Tsuki stared back. "You're finally getting it. Then, by all means . . ." Tsuki and Rhain stood up together and stared down at Mireille and Kirika. "Mireille Bouquet, I stole the image of Yumura Kirika only by the means of reminding you of the reason why you're alive. It was only necessary because, there, you will find the meaning of Noir, and another powerful thing above all--love. Don't listen to what people say when 'love kills'. That's stupid.

"Love. It is why you wake up every morning. It's your key to your future. Within this time, you will start the strongest bond ever known. A new white thread will bind you, not a black thread."

Rhain spoke to Kirika with a glint of pride in her hazel eyes. "Note that I too stole the image of the reason why you live, why you love, while you smile. _'The peace of the newly born; their black hands protect'._ The newly born--Noir, the two maidens who once governed death--shall bring peace. Your hands may be black and will turn everything they touch, black. But that doesn't change the fact of how you _feel_."

"To learn, you must suffer. You have to lose, to gain. You both lost things more dear to you, but gained something even better. Mireille lost her family, but memories of them strengthened her, and she gained a best friend. Kirika lost her identity and meaning of life, but this motivated her to hope and to seek the light--which she found in the one most precious to her, Mreille."

The sisters stood up and beamed down at Mireille and Kirika, who stared back in gawking gratitude.

"Now, it all fits," mumbled Kirika, "you came to us, to help us realize, to bond us so tight . . ."

". . . So you could have a stronger Noir than before," added Mireille, almost ominously. There was almost an edgy, ominous hint in her tone, but she smiled it off. Mireille closed her eyes, then reopened them. "You're using us. But . . . I guess anything to keep Kirika with me, against the world, will be worth it. Just the two of us . . ."

"Except," cut in Kirika seriously, "against the sins. We're against the world's sins, not the world."

"Like there's a difference . . ."

Kirika looked at the stern Mireille. Her eyes seemed to smile in the blaze of the fire: "The sketchbook, the cat, accepting me . . ." She turned to Mireille. "You did care."

Mireille smiled a bit, but didn't stare at Kirika.

"When there's hate, there is also love. When there is sadness, there is also happiness. Even when there is darkness, there will always be light," finished Tsuki with a light smile.

"When in times of doubt, just look on the other side," whispered Rhain. She winked. "Nothing can exist without an opposite. 'Supreme happiness will be the greatest cause of misery, and the perfection of wisdom the occasion of folly'; 'Every part is disposed to unite with the whole, that it may thereby escape from its own incompleteness'. I think those were by Leonardo Da Vinci." She shrugged freely. "Oh well. Just keep it in mind."

Kirika smiled at her. "You're not really . . ."

Rhain smiled. "No, I am not as hardcore as Mireille thought I was."

"Tell me," requested Mireille, "what are your names? Truly, your last names and all."

Tsuki stared sideways at Rhain and then said, "We are the sisters, Tsuki and Rhain. Isn't that enough for you? Does it really matter?" She smiled despite the odd question.

"This is meaningless," said Rhain, turning back to her up-beat attitude. She turned and Tsuki followed her movement. "Our work here is done. Let's go, sis."

Mireille called after them. "Will we see you soon?"

Tsuki and Rhain continued walking, yet Tsuki replied loudly over her shoulder, "Right now you should focus on what's important to you this very moment. Later, Mireille Bouquet and Kirika Yuumura. We'll meet again when the time of darkness and doubt come. I assure you."

"Do we really have to?" whined Rhain.

Their voices faded like they themselves did. They disappeared and seemed to be swallowed by darkness, yet, like Tsuki said, there would be light again to unveil them.

Mireille chuckled and closed her eyes, exhaling. To her surprise, she felt a tight sensation: she opened her eyes and looked down, realizing that Kirika had dropped her arms around her and embraced her with a naive, tight squeeze of joy.

_This_ was freedom.

Mireille gladly without hesitation returned the embrace. It was a silent passion, an unspoken love. They decided it was better off that way considering the silent atmosphere between them all the time. Unspoken words. Who needed words? Symbolic action was all that spoke within the night, dancing and teasing by the the light of the candlelight and the waxed moon dumbly shining.

Mireille stared over Kirika's shoulders, seeing if she could catch a glimpse of Tsuki and Rhain, yet she doubt she would. And she didn't. She smiled.

Kirika fell lifelessly into Mireille's arms, allowing those arms to support her. Limply, she leaned against Mirelle's collarbone, feeling light, cold, yet warm, and content. Mireille didn't squeeze anymore into their soft collision, but her arms coiling Kirika still ensured their affection.

To hold someone without your own reasons craving for love and attention; to not stare into their eyes; to not speak a word; to not move; to not listen to your surroundings; to hold someone without a drop of selfishness. That was love. Kirika felt it through this simple, yet everlasting touch.

"Mireille?"

"Hm?"

"What . . . now?"

Mireille unlocked the embrace and chuckled lightly at Kirika's statement. "Right." They exchanged lingering smiles, then pulled themselves to their feet, and stared at the jewel in the sky. "How about we return home and have tea?"

"Our own moonlight tea party." Kirika was back to her of lack of emotions. Then, she remembered what she had promised Mireille: she smiled, long and big.

Mireille liked it. "Let's go home."

"Mm-hm," emphasized Kirika, still smiling.

_There will be dark moments, like Tsuki and Rhain declared. But, like they said, we must find our incompleteness and the urge to complete it by seeking that light._

They threw away the picnic remains the sisters left them, and then began a short walk towards home. The moon drowned them into the long kiss of night, drowning their past along with it.

Not realizing it, the movie-like dream spun within seconds--next, Noir found themselves opening up back to the real world. Their eyes met the moment they opened, blinking, shocked, wondrous. Moonlight washed over their forms as they stayed like that, drowning into each other's stares.

"No . . ." breathed Mireille, watching breathlessly as the shadows danced in a blurry fashion over the hunched figure of Kirika's still body. Black threads of all shapes and sizes.

"Yeah," returned Kirika calmly, but with eyes of a curious child.

". . . A dreamlike past. Is that their past in our dream, or is it just . . . symbolic?" Mireille paused, rolled onto her other side, and stared at the floor next to her. The moon grinned a shadowy glow on her floor. She pondered aloud, "'Huhm . . ."

"Questions and more questions. They last forever. Part of life, disturbing enigmas, far disturbing than me," murmured Kirika as she continously kept her stare fixed on Mireille's tinted blonde hair. "They are another question. We have learned their purposes in our lives . . . but now, we must learn who they are. Just them, them and their pasts. Their motivations for becoming Soldats. The closer to them, the closer we are to the Soldats."

"That remains unknown," whispered Mireille. "For now, let's sleep. We'll try interpret the dream tomorrow morning. Go to sleep, Kirika."

After Kirika shut her eyes, Mireille drifted away, ending up trying to intrepret more symbolic dreams. Ticking, mewing, moonlight, blood-red sky, gunshots, a soft caress . . .

The next morning, Mireille was first to make breakfast. When Kirika awoke, eggs, bacon, and orange juice on a tray was shaking before her eyes because Mireill was waving the smell and delicious sight around with her hands.

"Morning!" she greeted in her playful voice tone. She placed the tray on Kirika's lap and sat next to her.

Kirika ate gratefully. It wasn't long until she asked tentatively, "Was . . . that a dream about a dream? Or was it really real?"

Mireille paused, remembering. She closed her eyes and rested against the wall that stood between their bed and the pool table. "I forgot about it. Yet, I did think about it. In my opinion, I'm saying that when the next eclipse occurs, something will happen. Something that includes us and them. I don't know, it's just a guess. And now that I think about it, it makes no sense. No logical sense.

"Now, interpreting the symbolic figures Tsuki and Rhain displayed. They were in our dreams because of the mere fact that they've entered our lives. But most importantly, their 'mystical' bond only symbolized yours and mine. That's all I have in mind. I'm clueless on this one, though."

Kirika stared at her breakfast and explained her conclusion. "My theory is that they are trying to tell us to meet them again . . . when something happens. I don't know what that will be, but, I have this feeling . . ."

"Either way, the results are the same: we're gonna see them again."

"We should be thankful," said Kirika, as she smiled lightly.

"Heh, sure," mused Mireille.

Out of nowhere, Kirika said, "We should do something in return . . .?"

Mireille shrugged. "Well, I guess . . . don't expect me to throw another tea party in the moonlight. Having them in the darkness is not a trustworthy thing to do. And, no pizza parties, okay?"

Kirika gave a slight smile.

Mireille chuckled and gave in. "It's settled then. We'll track them down. I'm sure there aren't that many people named 'Tsuki' and 'Rhain' . . ." Mireille walked to the counter and pulled out a drawer; inside was a phone directory.

Minutes passed. Kirika had finished her breakfast and she got out of bed to clean the dishes. As she turned the faucet on, her eyes shifted to Mireille, who was still sitting at the counter after several minutes of leafing through the phone directory.

"Something wrong?" Kirika asked intently. She noticed the intesity in Mireille's eyes.

Mireille exhaled. "I can't find them."

It was quiet afterwards. Kirika stood at the sink, thinking, while Mireille looked at the girl's back for any reactions.

"Not even by searching for their first names?" asked Kirika softly.

Mireille shook her head slowly, as if the results were that shocking. "It occurred to me that we never asked them if they lived around here in Paris. Silly me. I'm gonna' have to surf the internet again and ask for information on them."

The Corsican sat at the pool table and started clicking around, surfing the internet. Meanwhile, Kirika did whatever she could to entertain herself; she stroke Mireille the cat's back, she read boring magazines, she watered the pot plant, she finally changed into decent day clothes, she gazed at the necklace locket with Mireille's beautiful picture smiling back, and she took a quick walk.

When she returned, slipping off her pink clods, she found Mireille still at the pool table, with stacks of paper scattered everywhere as if she had thrown out her rage. It was a worse mess than whenever they were working on an assassion mission. Mireille leaned forward, her head snuggled in her arms.

"What's all these papers for?" Kirika asked her, looking through the sheets. Each sheet had profiles on people who Mireille, at first, mistakened as Tsuki and Rhain because of the related descriptions.

"I can't locate them," was Mireille's absolute answer.

She got up and picked up her mess, pushing the useless stuff into the trash can. Kirika helped her. In the process, Kirika looked at the computer screen. Windows overlapped each other, with different pictures and descriptions. There were so many faces looking similar to Tsuki and Rhain.

After cleaning up, Mireille sat back down in her computer chair and rested her head against her folded arms.

Kirika's silence asked inaudibly, "So?"

Mireille's eyes were closed, and Kirika waited patiently. Before long, the French woman's eyes opened as she said, "Nothing."

"Strange," murmured Kirika to herself matter-of-factly.

"I can't find them, can't locate them, can't get any information on them. None whatsoever. It's like, as if they've completely vanished into thin air. According to all my researching . . . they didn't exist."

"Their existence, impossible--That can't be." Kirika was disappointed. "We met them, we touched them, we spoke to them, we were with them--?"

"Well, they are ex-Soldats. Soldiers of highly perfected stealth and profession in leaving no traces. I can understand that possiblity."

"To think they'd actually bother wiping their existence from our eyes," murmured Kirika.

Mireille shook her head, dumbfounded herself. She seemed disappointed as well. "Through research, I was told that two girls were last seen grocery shopping. Otherwise, while investigations on their unknown housestyle life was in progress, nothing was found inside. Nothing. Nothing's in there. No furniture, no possessions, no scrap, no left-behinds. All of the evidence of them vanished along with them. It all disappeared so well and so quickly, that it was as if they never existed. They were only illusions. It was all only a dream. Reality is so deceiving." Mireille closed her eyes.

"And after all they've done for us, they leave," said Kirika. She hung her head and gazed at the floor. "The results end one way or another: they're expert ex-Soldats, or . . . they were pyschological figments from our dark imaginations."

"Impossible. No. Not figments," argued Mireille, leaning forward, her forehead knitting into wrinkles of frustration and disappointment. "Just . . . impossible."

Kirika spoke: "There is also the fact that Soldats never want to leave traces. People like Tsuki and Rhain . . . their reasons are evident: They don't want to be pursued. How typical . . . for Soldats."

"Question is, how's that so? Everything was so real. Everything was real." Mirreille didn't want to admit that they were gone. She had began to like them. Now, they were completely gone. There was nothing else left to like that was connected with them. "Maybe, we had hoped too much that there were others who understood us and didn't want to kill us, that we were getting dellusional. It was just another dream."

"You shouldn't say that after we've discovered we shared the same dreams," fought Kirika. She was really disappointed as much as Mireille was. "And I was beginning to think . . . that there was someone else like us. But, Tsuki and Rhain were only lies. And again, this world is full of lies and will continue to flow with more of them. We can't rely on anything or anyone else anymore. It's us against the world."

"Another game," stated. She nodded and accepted the truth. The assassin sighed. "Too bad. I was beginning to like to Rhain."

Kirika almost giggled in a hush-like way at the complaint. "I had liked her already--only because she reminded me of you."

"What, her fresh attitude or just because of her blonde hair?"

"When she and Tsuki were together, they reminded me of us."

"So, then it was real," declared Mireille.

Kirika looked at her.

"If we still believe that we have a bond going on here between us, then that meant they existed, right?" Mireille stared into Kirika's eyes. "Make sense, right? We wouldn't be thinking about them right now if they hadn't existed. We would have been waking up, on another ordinary morning. But we didn't. They did exist, they did indeed. Not only that . . . but there were possibly correct reports of spying two girls matching Tsuki and Rhain."

Kirika smiled, then frowned. "But, why? Why can't we contact them or find them?"

"Well, I'm assuming we're off their case, now they have other cases to settle with."

"That doesn't explain anything, Mireille."

"Why are you looking at me? I was thinking logically. I don't know."

Kirika got up and stood outside on the porch. She gazed blankly at whatever she usually gazed at. Mireille decided to join her. They noticed a crowd below them, hussling, jostling, and making their way through blindly.

"Hm," murmured Mireille to herself. "Never stopping. Never thinking. Never looking up, nor down. Even when they look at each other's faces, they cannot see each other. They have no mirrors. Not even mirrors for themselves."

"You've got to pray for them, Mireille," whispered Kirika. "Pray that . . . these people will understand. That . . . we're not the only ones."

Kirika turned to Mireille and smiled. Mireille returned hers with a small smile, but eyes that said so much. Then, side by side, Mireille and Kirika watched the sky's dancing colors as the sun painted the world with new light.

Kirika whispered, "Black is a color. We could be any color we want. A color is a color . . ."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Rhain was watching," said Mireille sarcastically as she stared through the sunlight, shading her eyes.

Kirika raised her hand, spreading her fingers as though they were webbed. Through the gaps of her fingers, she blinked at the sunbeams gaping through. She wore a ring of light. Entangling those gaps in her fingers were Mireille's fingers, who smiled briefly at Kirika, then untangled their hands.

Kirika lost herself, closing her eyes. Mireille looked to the sky.

_We'll be waiting. For redemption, for you. Thank you._

From the crowd below, Tsuki took her last glance at Noir, whose attention was at the sky, and smiled. "It's your life, your choice to live it the way you want," she whispered, knowing they couldn't hear her.

Rhain chuckled and beamed for the first time up at Mireille. "Look out, Mireille Bouquet. I'm watching you, don't you forget that. Because we are the Soldats."

They turned and melted into the crowd.


End file.
